UC-NRLF 


mi":  :  U;;-TORV 


MMMMMmmMd«MMMMMUIftMtfll«»«Tt*.)  kiun{  C-  -^ 


Kpochs  of  Ancient  History 

EDITED    BY 

REV.  G.  W.  COX,  M.A.  and  C.  SANKEY,  M.A. 


THE 

ROMAN^EMPIRE  of  the  SECOND  CENTURY 


W.  W.  CAPES,  M.A. 


EPOCHS   OF  ANCIENT    HISTORY. 

Edited   by  Rev.   G.  W.  Cox  and  Charles   Sankky,  M.  A. 

Eleven  volumes,  i6mo,  with  41  Maps  and  Plans.     Price  par 

I     vol.,  $1.00.    The  set,  Roxburgh  style,  gilt  top,  in  box,  $n.oow 

'Troy— Its   Legend,    History,  and  Literature.     By  S.  G.  W. 

Benjamin. 
The  Greeks  and  the  Persians.     By  G.  W.  Cox. 
The  Athenian  Empire.     By  G.  W.  Cox. 
The  Spartan  and  Theban  Supremacies.     By  Charles  Sankey. 
The  Macedonian  Empire.     By  A.  M.  Curteis. 
Early  Rome.     By  W-  Ihne. 
Rome  and  Carthage.     By  R.  Bosworth  Smith. 
The  Gracchi,  Marius,  and  Sulla.     By  A.  H.  Beesley. 
The  Roman  Triumvirates.     By  Charles  Merivale. 
The  Earlv  Empire.     By  W.  Wolfe  Capes. 
The  Age  of  the  Antomnes.     By  W.  Wolfe  Capes. 

EPOCHS   OF    MODERN    HISTORY. 

Edited  by  Edward  E.  Morris.  Eighteen  volumes,  i6ra«, 
with  77  Maps,  Plans,  and  Tables.  Price  per  vol.,  $1.00, 
The  set,  Roxburgh  style,  gilt  top,  in  box,  $18.00. 

The  Beginning  of  the  Middle  Ages.     By  R.  W.  Church. 

The  Normans  in  Europe.     By  A.  H.  Johnson. 

The  Crusades     By  G.  W.  Cox. 

The  Early  Plantagenets.     By  Wm.  Stubbs. 

Edward  III.     By  W.  Warburton. 

The  Houses  of  Lancaster  and  York.     By  James  Gairdner. 

The  Era  of  the  Protestant  Revolution.     By  Frederic  Seebohm. 

The  Early  TudoR6.     By  C.  E.  Moberly. 

The  Age  of  Elizabeth.     By  M.  Creighton. 

The  Thirty  Years  War,  1618-1648.     By  S.  R.  Gardiner. 

The  Puritan  Revolution.     By  S.  R.  Gardiner. 

The  Fall  of  the  Stuarts.     By  Edward  Hale 

The  English  Restoration  and  Louis  XIV.     By  Osmond  Airy. 

The  Age  of  Anne.     By  Edward  E.  Morris. 

The  Early  Hanoverians.     Bv  Edward  E.  Morris. 

Frederick  the  Great.    By  F.  W.  Longman. 

The  French  Revolution  and  Fir3T  Empire.      By  W.  O'ConWf 

Morris.     Appendix  by  Andrew  D.  White. 
Tt«  Fpoch  of  Reform.  1830-i8bo,    By  Justin  Macarthy- 


EPOCHS  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY. 


THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE 


OF  THE 


SECOND   CENTURY 


OR 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  A  NT  O NINES, 


BY 

W.  W.  CAPES,  M.A. 

LATE  FELLOW  AND  TUTOR  OF  QUEEN  S  COLLEGE,  AND 
READER  IN  ANCIENT  HISTORY  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD, 


WITH  TWO  MAPS, 


NEW   YOKK: 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS, 

1911. 


Vft* 


^ x 


a  "  . 


DC 

^5 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NERVA. — A.  D.  96-96. 


PAGE 
Z 


Nerva  raised  to  the  throne  by  the  murderers  of  Domitian 
Treats  the  agents  of  past  tyranny  with  forbearance,  though 

Pliny  and  others  cried  for  vengeance         ....  3 

Nerva's  measures  for  the  poorer  citizens  ....       5 

The  mutiny  on  the  Danube  appeased  by  Dion  Chrysostom  6 

The  violence  of  the  praetorians  caused  the  Emperor  to  choose 

Trajan  as  his  colleague  and  successor,  A.D.  97  6 

Death  of  Nerva,  A.D.  98 7 


CHAPTER  II. 

TRAJAN  — A.  D.  97-II7. 

Trajan  avenges  the  outrage  done  to  Nerva  ....  7 
After  a  year's  delay  enters  Rome  without  parade        .        .  9 

The  simple  bearing  of  his  wife  Plotina 9 

His  respect  for  constitutional  forms lo 

His  frank  courtesy  and  fearless  confidence  .  .  .  .12 
His  thrift  and  moderation  excite  the  surprise  of  Pliny  .  .  12 
His  economy  could  save  little  except  in  personal  expenditure  14 
Large  outlay  on  roads,  bridges,  ports  and  aqueducts,  baths 

and  theatres 15 

The  charitable  endowments  for  poor  children  .         .         .19 

Which  lead  others  to  act  in  a  like  spirit  .         .         2t 

Trajan's  policy  with  regard  to  the  corn  trade  .        .        .        .22 


267812 


vi  Contents. 

PAGE 
His  treatment  of  provincial  interests  as  shown  in  the  corre- 
spondence with  Pliny,  A.D.  111-113           .         .         .         •  23 
He  would  not  meddle  needlessly  or  centralize  too  fast    .         .  25 

His  war  policy 

On  the  side,  of  Germany  he  had  strengthened  the  frontier  with 

defensive  works     .         .         •         • 27 

The  rise  of  the  Dacian  kingdom  and  threats  of  Decebalus    .  29 
Trajan  declared  war  and  set  out,  A.D.  101       >.         .         .         .29 

The  course  of  the  campaign 31 

The  battle  of  Tapse,  advance  into  Transylvania,  and  Roman 

victories  bring  the  first  war  to  a  close.     A.D.  102           .        .  32 

Peace  did  not  last  long 3* 

Trajan's  preparations  and  bridge  of  stone  across  the  Danube  .  34 
The  legions  converged  on   Dacia  and   crushed   the  enemy, 

A.D.  106 35 

The  country  was  colonized  and  garrisoned      .         .         .        •  36 

The  survival  of  Rome's  influence  in  the  Roumanian  language  37 

Trajan's  forum  and  triumphal  column           ....  38 

The  conquest  of  Arabia 4° 

War  declared  against  Parthia,  A.D.  113         .         .         .         .  42 

Trajan  arrives  at  Antioch,  and  marches  through  Armenia,       .  43 

Parthamasiris  deposed  and  slain 45 

Submission  of  the  neighbouring  princes 45 

The  great  earthquake  at  Antioch,  A.D.  115  46 
Trajan  crossed  the  Tigris  and  carried  all  before  him  as  far  as 

the  Persian  Gulf 47 

But  the  lately  conquered  countries  rose  in  his  rear,  and  he  was 

forced  to  retire 48 

His  death  at  Selinus,  and  character 49 

Taken  as  a  type  of  heathen  iustice  in  legend  and  art        .        .  51 

CHAPTER  III. 

HADRIAN. — A.D.  II7-I38. 

The  earlier  life  of  Hadrian 51 

His  sudden  elevation  to  the  throne  caused  ugly  rumours          .  52 
His  policy  of  peace  accompanied  by  personal  hardihood  and 

regard  for  discipline 53 


Contents.  vii 

PAGE 

He  travelled  constantly  through  the  provinces         .         .         .55 
We  hear  of  him  in  Britain,  Africa,  Asia  Minor,  and  in  Athens 

above  all         .........         57 

And  in  Egypt .  .         .59 

The  death  and  apotheosis  of  Antinous  ....         60 

Hadrian's  interests  cosmopolitan  more  than  Roman         .  .       .61 
The  levelling  influence  of  the  "  Perpetual  Edict,''  A.D.  132  .         62 

Hadrian's  frugality  and  good  finance 63 

The  dark  moods  and  caprices  attributed  to  him    ...         64 
His  suspicious  temper,  system  of  espionage,  and  jealousy  of 

brilliant  powers  ........         65 

His  fickleness,  superstition,  and  variety  of  temper    .         .         .67 
Reasons  for  mistrusting  these  accounts  of  ancient  authors    .         68 
His  villa  at  Tivoli     .........     6q 

Struck  by  disease,  he  chose  Verus  as  successor,  A.D.  135,  who 

died  soon  after 71 

Antoninus  was  adopted  in  his  place  .         .         .         .         .72 

Hadrian's  dying  agony,  and  fitful  moods  of  cruelty      .         .         72 
His  death  and  canonization      .......     73 

The  mausoleum  of  Hadrian  ......         74 

The  outbreak  in  Palestine  was  at  last  terribly  stamped  out      .     75 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ANTONINUS   PIUS. — A.D.  138-161. 

The  reign  of  Antoninus  was  uneventful  ...  'jj 

Why  called  Pius 77 

His  good-nature  was  free  from  weakness       .                  .         .  78 
He  did  not  travel  abroad,  but  was  careful  of  provincial  inte- 
rests         79 

Wars  were  needful  with   Moors,   Dacians,  and  Brigantes,  yet 

he  gained  more  by  diplomacy    ......  80 

His  homely  life  at  Lorium 81 

His  easy  and  forgiving  temper 81 

Tender  care  of  his  adopted  son,  to  whom  he  left  the  Empire 

at  his  death 83 


viii  Contents. 

CHAPTER   V. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS   ANTONINUS. — A.D.  147-180. 

PAGE 

The  early  life  of  M.  Aurelms 84 

His  correspondence  with  Fronto,  his  old  tutor  .  .  .85 
His  conversion  from  rhetoric  to  philosophy         ...         86 

The  jealousy  of  Fronto 86 

Offices  of  state  and  popular  favour  did  not  turn  the  head  of 

the  young  prince 88 

He  looked  to  the  Stoic  creed  for  guidance,  but  without  loss  of 

tenderness     ..........     89 

Fronto,  like  Faustina,  had  little  love  for  philosophers  .  .  90 
On  the  death  of  Antoninus  M.  Aurelius  shared  his  power  with 

L.  Verus,  A.D.  161 gI 

Ominous  prospects,  floods,  dangers  on  the  Euphrates  .  91 
Verus  starts  for  the  East,  where  the  soldiers  were  demoralized  93 
The  Parthians  were  humbled,  and  Verus  claimed  the  merit  of 

his  general's  successes,  A.D.  166 95 

Fronto 's  courtly  panegyric 95 

M.  Aurelius  meantime  endows  charities  for  foundlings,  appoints 

juridici,  and  guardians  for  orphans,  and  work  unremittingly  96 
But  he  is  called  away  to  the  scene  of  war  .  .  .  .98 
The  fortune  of  the  Roman  arms  in  Britain  ....  99 
Both   Emperors   started  for  the  Danube,  where  the  border 

races  sued  for  peace         .......       101 

The  ravages  of  the  plague,  A.D.  167-8 101 

The  war  begins  again,  but  is  checked  by  the  spread  of  the 

plague 102 

Verus  dies,  and  M.  Aurelius  rules  henceforth  alone,  A.D.  169  103 
The  long  and  arduous  struggle  on  the  Northern  frontier  .  104 
The  Marcomannic  war  followed  by  the  campaign  against  the 

Quadi,  in  which  we  read  of  the  marvel  of  the  "  Thundering 

Legion  " 106 

The  revolt  of  Avidius  Cassius,  A.D.  175  ....  108 
Contempt  expressed  by  him  for  the  Emperor  as  a  ruler  .  .110 
The  speedy  failure  of  the  insurrection  .....  m 
The  Emperor  showed  no  vindictive  feeling       «...  112 


Contents.  ix 

PAGE 

He  went  to  restore  order  in  the  East,  and  Faustina  died  on 

the  way '     JI3 

His  short  rest  at  Rome,  and  endowments  in  memory  of  his 

wife "4 

Recalled  to  the  war  in  the  North,  he  died  at  Vienna  or  Sir- 
mi  um,  A.D.  180 JI5 

Grief  of  his  subjects,  and  monuments  in  his  honour    .         .  115 

His  "  Meditations"  reflect  his  habits  of  self-inquiry  and  grati- 
tude       XI7 

There  is  no  trace  in  them  of  morbid  vanity  or  self-contempt  121 

He  tried  to  be  patient  and  cheerful  in  the  hard  work  of  life    .  122 

Nor  was  he  too  ambitious  or  too  sanguine  in  his  aims         .  124 

His  anticipations  of  Christian  feeling 125 

The  thought  of  a  Ruling  Providence  stirred  his  heart  with 

tenderness  and  love           .......  128 

His  delicate  sympathy  with  Nature         ,         .         .         .         .129 

His  melancholy  and  sense  of  isolation         ....  131 

The  austere  Stoic  creed  could  not  content  him      .         .        .  131 

The  contrast  of  the  contemporary  Christians       .         .         .  131 

M.  Aurelius  was  unfortunate  in  his  son  Commodus        .         .  132 
Was  he  also  in  his  wife  Faustina?     Reasons  for  doubting  the 

truth  of  the  common  story 133 

CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  ATTITUDE  OF    THE    IMPERIAL   GOVERNMENT 
TOWARDS    THE    CHRISTIANS. 

The  Christians  at  first  regarded  as  a  Jewish  sect,  and  not  dis- 
turbed   135 

In  the  time  of  Nero  we  trace  dislike  to  the  Christians  as  such     137 

They  were  regarded  as  unsocial  and  morose  fanatics,  accused 
of  impiety  and  of  foul  excesses 138 

Christianity  was  not  made  illegal  till  the  time  of  Trajan,  whose 
answer  to  Pliny  determined  the  law 141 

The  reasons  why  the  government  might  distrust  the  Christian 
Church     ..........         143 

Succeeding  Emperors  inclined  to  mercy,  but  the  popular  dis- 
like grew  more  intense 143 


x  Contents. 

PAGE 

The  rescripts  of  Hadrian  and  Antoninus  very  questionable  146 

The  martyrdom  of  Polycarp 147 

The  persecution  at  Vienna  and  Lugdunum    ....  148 
Lucian's  account  of  Peregrinus  Proteus  reflects  some  noble 

features  of  the  early  Church,  A.D.  165     ....  151 

The  attack  of  Celsus,  A.D.  150,  was  answered  in  later  days     .  152 

The  line  of  argument  taken  by  the  Apologists  of  the  age    .  154 

The  life  of  Justin  Martyr 155 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   CHARACTERISTICS    OF   THE  STATE   RELIGION,   AND 
OF  THE   RITES    IMPORTED    FROM   THE   EAST. 

The  Emperors  respected  the  old  forms  of  national  religion  157 

The  Collegia  or  brotherhoods       ....                 .  158 
The  official  registers  of  the  Arval  Brothers,  containing  a  full 

description  of  their  ritual 159 

We  may  note  (1)  their  punctilious  regard  for  ancient  forms  161 

(2)  The  absence  of  moral  or  spiritual  influence  .         .         .  162 

(3)  The  loyalty  to  the  established  powers  of  state    .         .  163 
The  old  religion  was  cold  and  meagre,  and  supplemented  by 

exotic  creeds    .........         164 

The  civil  power  only  feebly  opposed  the  new  rites,  which  were 

welcomed  by  devout  minds  like   Plutarch  and   Maximus 

Tyrius 165 

The  mystic  reveries  and  visions  of  Aristides  in  his  sickness, 

A.D.  144-161 168 

New  moods  of  ecstatic  feeling,  self-denial,   and  excitement, 

and  mystic  gloom  encouraged  by  Eastern  religions     .         .     168 
The  rite  of  the  taurobolium        .  .         .         .         .         .         .         170 

The  new  comers  lived  in  peace  in  the  imperial  Pantheon        .     171 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   LITERARY   CURRENTS   OF  THE   AGE. 

The  enthusiasm  for  learning,  but  want  of  creative  power        .  172 

The  culture  of  the  age  was  mainly  Greek  and  professorial  .  173 

The  various  classes  of  Sophists I7S 

1.  Moralists  and  Philosophers 176 


Cotitents. 


XI 


PAGE 

Epictetus,  fl.  under  Trajan                 .        .        . 

178 

Dion  Chrysostom                      .... 

'  •         .         .     182 

Plutarch                   "                

.         .         185 

2.  Literary  artists  and  rhetoricians         .         . 

.     189 

Fronto,  A.D.  90-168 

.         .         190 

Polemon,  fl.  under  Hadrian    .         .         . 

.     192 

Favorinus                         "       .         .         .         , 

193 

Herodes  Atticus,  A.D.  101-177 

.     193 

Apuleius,  fl.  under  M.  Aurelius  .         .        , 

197 

Lucian               "                 "                  .         . 

199 

CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  ADMINISTRATIVE   FORMS   OF    THE    IMPERIAL 
GOVERNMENT. 

The  Emperor  was  an  absolute  sovereign,  and   his  ministers 
were  at  first  his  domestics,  afterwards  knights 

The  most  important  officers  were,  (1)  a  rationibus  (treasurer) 
2.  Ab  epistulis  (secretary)     . 
•    3.  A  libellis  (clerk  of  petitions) 
4.  A  cubiculo  (chamberlain) 

The  Privy  Council  .... 

The  Praefect  of  the  city 

The  Praefect  of  the  Praetorian  Guard 

The  provincial  governors  and  their  suite 

Local  magistrates  and  local  freedom 

Few  guarantees  of  permanence   . 

The  municipalities   courted   interference 

The  governors  began  to  meddle  more 

The  Caesar  was  more  appealed  to  . 

The  actual  evils  of  a  later  age 

1.  The  pressure   of  taxation,  moderate  at  first,  became 

more  and  more  intense     ...••• 

2.  The  increase  of  bureaucracy  was  followed  by  oppressive 

restrictions  on  the  Civil  Service     .... 

3.  The  municipal  honours  became  onerous  charges 

4.  Trades  and  industries  became  hereditary  burdens  . 
INDEX , 


203 
204 
205 
205 
206 
206 
207 
207 
208 
209 
211 
211 
212 
212 
213 

213 

216 
217 
219 
223 


ORIGINAL  AUTHORITIES. 


Scriptores  Histor'uz  Augusta. 

Dion  Cassius,  Hist.  Rom.    Xiphilini  Epit. 

Pliny,  Letters. 

FRONTO,  Letters. 

Marcus  Antoninus,  quoted  commonly  in  the  transla- 
tion of  G.  Long. 

Elsebius,  Eccl.  Hist. 

Philosostratus,  VitcB  Sophistarum. 

EPICTETUS,  Manual  and  Dissert, 

Plutarch,  Moral  Treatises. 

LUC  IAN,   Works. 

Corpus  Inscriptionum  Latinarum* 


LIST  OF  MAPS. 


I.  Map  to  illustrate  the  Dacian  War.     To  face  page  31 
II.  Map  to  illustrate  the  Parthian  War.  "  43 


ROMAN  HISTORY. 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  ANTONINES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NERVA.      A.  D.  96-98. 

Before  the  murderers  of  Domitian  raised  their  hands 
to  strike  the  fatal  blow,  they  looked  around, 

,  -      ,  it.-  Nerva 

we  read,  to  find  a  successor  to  replace.him,  raised  to  lhe 
Others  whom  they  sounded  on  the  subject  Jh^urdw- 
shrunk  away  in  fear  or  in  suspicion,  till  they      ers  of  Do- 

,  mitian, 

thought  of  M.   Cocceius   Nerva,    who   was 
likely  to  fill  worthily  the  office  that  would  soon  be  va- 
cant. 

Little  is  known  of  his  career  for  more  than  sixty  years, 
till  after  he  had  twice  been  consul,  and  when  his  work 
seemed  almost  done,  he  rose  for  a  little  while  to  take  the 
highest  place  on  earth.  The  tyrant  on  the  throne  had 
eyed  him  darkly,  had  banished  him  because  he  heard 
that  the  stars  pointed  in  his  case  to  the  signs  of  sove- 
reign power,  and  indeed  only  spared  his  life  because 
other  dabblers  in  the  mystic  lore  said  that  he  was  fated 
soon  to  die.  The  sense  of  his  danger,  heightened  by 
his  knowledge  of  the  plot,  made  Nerva  bold  when  others 


•  t        ••*        I       «  «  t    »  . 

•        *  ft       I  ' 

•  m*  •   ••• «       '    **    .  •    a  * 

'  '    *  *  2    *      »••••-  The' 'Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

flinched ;  so  he  lent  the  conspirators  his  name,  and  rose 
by  their  help  to  the  imperial  seat.  He  had  dallied  with 
the  Muses,  and  courted  poetry  in  earlier  years  ;  but  he 
showed  no  creative  aims  as  ruler,  and  no  genius  for  heroic 
measures.  The  fancy  or  the  sanguine  confidence  of 
youth  was  chequered  perhaps  by  waning  strength  and 
feeble  health,  or  more  probably  a  natural  kindliness  of 
temper  made  him  more  careful  of  his  people's  wants. 
After  the  long  nightmare  of  oppression  caused  by  the 
caprices  of  a  moody  despot,  Rome  woke  again  to  find 
herself  at  rest  under  a  sovereign  who  indulged  no  wan- 
ton fancies,  but  was  gentle  and  calm  and  unassuming, 

homely  in  his  personal  bearing,  and  thrifty 
gentle  mode-  with  the  coffers  of  the  state.  He  had  few 
ration,  expensive  tastes,  it  seemed,  and  little  love 

for  grand  parade,  refusing  commonly  the  proffered  sta- 
tues ana  gaudy  trappings  of  official  rank.  As  an  old 
senator,  he  felt  a  pride  in  the  dignity  of  the  august  as- 
sembly, consulted  it  in  all  concerns  of  moment,  and 
pledged  himself  to  look  upon  its  members'  lives  as  sa- 
cred. A  short  while  since  and  they  were  cowering  before 
Domitian's  sullen  frown,  or  shut  up  in  the  senate  house 
by  men-at-arms  while  the  noblest  of  their  number  were 
dragged  out  before  their  eyes  to  death.  But  now  they 
had  an  Emperor  who  treated  them  as  his  peers,  who  lis- 
tened patiently  to  their  debates,  and  met  them  on  an 

easy  footing  in  the  courtesies  of  social  life, 
treating  j_je   rose    afoove   the  petty  jealousy   which 

with  re-  looks  askant  at  brilliant  powers  or  great  his- 

toric names,  and  chose  even  as  his  col- 
league in  the  consulship  the  old  Verginius  Rufus,  in 
whose  hands  once  lay  the  imperial  power  had  he  only 
cared  to  grasp  it.  Nor  was  he  haunted  by  suspicious 
fears,  such  as  sometimes  give  the  timid  a  fierce  appetite 


96-98.  Nerva.  3 

for  blood.  For  when  he  learnt  that  a  noble  of  old  fami- 
ly had  formed  a  plot  against  his  life,  he  took  no  steps  to 
punish  him,  but  kept  him  close  beside  him  in  his  train, 
talked  to  him  at  the  theatre  with  calm  composure,  and 
even  handed  him  a  sword  to  try  its  edge  and  temper,  as 
if  intent  to  prove  that  he  had  no  mistrustful  or  revenge- 
ful thought. 

There  were  many  indeed  to  whom  he  seemed  too 
easy-going,  too  careless  of  the  memories  of  wrong-doing, 
to  satisfy  their  passionate  zeal  for  justice.  There  were 
those  who  had  seen  their  friends  or  kinsmen  hunted  to 
death  by  false  accusers,  who  thought  that  surely  now  at 
length  they  might  wreak  their  vengeance  on  the  tyrant's 
bloodhounds.     The   early  days  of  Nerva's  ,  . 

'       t   J  and  the 

rule  seemed  to  natter  all  their  hopes,  for  the      agei.ts  of 

i  iii-  past  ty- 

pnson  doors  were  opened  to  let  the  innocent      ranny  with 
go  forth,  while  their  place  was  taken   by       forbearance, 
spies  and  perjurers  and  all  the  harpies  who  had  preyed 
on  noble  victims.     For  a  while  it  seemed  as  if  the  days 
of  retribution  were  at  hand,  but  the  Emperor's  gentle 
temper,  or  the   advice  of  wary   counsellors,   prevailed; 
Nerva  soon   stayed  his  hand,  and  would  not  have   the 
first  pages  of  his  annals  scored  in   characters  of  blood. 
To  many,  such  clemency  seemed  idle  weakness  ;  Pliny, 
humane   and   tender-hearted  as  he  was,  reflects  in  his 
familiar  letters  the  indignation   of  his  class, 
and  sorely  frets  to  think, of  the  great  crimi-       pih.y  and 
nals  who  flaunted  in  the  eves  of  men  the       other,  cned 

for  ven- 

pride  of  their  ill  gotten  wealth.     He  tells      geance.  (Pi. 

•  i  i-    •  11  c  kp.  iv.  22.) 

with  a  malicious  glee  the  story  of  a  supper- 
party  in  the  palace,  where  the  name  of  a  notorious  in- 
former happened   to  come  up,  and  first  one   and  then 
another  of  the  guests  told  tale  after  tale  of  his  misdeeds, 
till  the  Emperor  asked  at  last  what  could  be  done  with 


4  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

him  if  he  were  living  still.  Whereupon  one  bolder  than 
the  rest  replied,  "he  would  be  asked  to  supper  with  us 
here  to-night;"  and  indeed  close  beside  Nerva  there  was 
lolling  on  the  couch  an  infamous  professor  of  the  same 
black  art.  We  may  read,  too,  in  a  Itttet  written  long 
afterwards  to  a  young  friend,  how  Pliny  came  forward 
in  the  senate  to  laud  the  memory  of  the  great  Helvidius, 
and  brand  with  infamy  the  wretch  who  caused  his  death. 
At  first  he  found  scant  sympathy  from  those 
Ep.  ix.  13.  w^Q  heard  him.  Some  troubled  with  a 
guilty  conscience  tried  to  drown  his  voice  in  clamour,  on 
the  plea  that  no  notice  had  been  given  of  his  motion  ; 
some  begged  him  not  to  raise  the  ghosts  of  worn-out 
feuds,  but  to  let  them  rest  in  peace  awhile  after  the  long 
reign  of  terror.  Wary  friends,  too,  warned  him  to  be 
cautious,  lest  he  should  make  himself  a  mark  for  the 
jealousy  of  future  rulers.  But  Pliny  was  resolute  and 
persevered.  The  consul,  who  acted  as  Speaker  in  the 
senate,  silenced  him  indeed  at  first,  but  let  him  rise  at 
length  in  his  own  turn,  and,  leaving  the  subject  then  be- 
fore the  house,  speak  for  the  memory  of  his  injured 
friend,  till  the  full  stream  of  his  indignant  eloquence 
carried  the  listening  senators  along,  and  swept  away  the 
timid  protests  raised  for  the  accused.  The  Emperor  step- 
ped in,  and  stayed  proceedings  in  the  senate  ;  but  the  ora- 
tor recalled  with  pride  in  later  years  the  enthusiasm 
which  his  vehemence  had  stirred,  and  felt  no  throb  of 
pity  in  his  kindly  heart  when  he  was  told  that  the  wretched 
man  whom  he  accused  was  haunted  soon  after  in  his  dying 
moments  by  his  own  stern  look  and  passionate  words. 
But  Nerva  was  determined  to  let  the  veil  fall  on  the 
past.  He  raised  no  question  about  the  favours  and  the 
boons  of  earlier  rulers,  but  respected  the  immunities  and 
dispensations  however  carelessly  bestowed. 


96-98.  Nerva.  5 

There  were  still  three  powers  that  must  be  reckoned 
with  before  any  government  could  feel  se- 
cure — the    populace  of  Rome,  the  frontier      measures 
legions,    and   the    praetorian   guards.      The      poorer  citi- 
first  looked  to  be  courted  and  caressed  as      zens- 
usual ;  but  the  treasury  was  empty,  and  Nerva  was  too 
thrifty  to  spend  lavishly  on  the  circus  or  the  theatres  or 
the  processions  which  helped  to  make  a  Roman  holiday. 
Still  he  was  careful  of  the  real  interests  of  the  poor;  he 
gave  large  sums  for  land  to  be  granted  freely  to  the  col- 
onists who  would  exchange  the  lounging  indolence  of 
Rome   for    honest   industry  in    country  work.     Where 
funds  were  wanting  for  this  purpose,  he  stripped  the  pal- 
ace of  its  costly  wares,  sold  even  the  heirlooms  of  his 
family,  and  gave  up  houses  and  broad  lands  to  carry 
out  his  plans  for  the  well-being  of  his  subjects.    To  show 
that  such  self-sacrifice  was  due  to  no  caprice  of  passing 
fancy,  he  had  the  new  name  of  "The  Palace  of  the  Peo- 
ple"  set  up  in  characters  which  all  might  read  upon 
the  mansion  of  the  Caesars,  while  the  coins  that  were 
struck  in  his  imperial   mint   bore   the   old 
name  of  Liberty  upon  their  face.     For  he  gnc° 3' 

tried,  says  Tacitus,  to  reconcile  the  claims  of  monarchy 
and  freedom — the  two  things  found  incompatible  be- 
fore. 

The  distant  legions  had  suffered  little  from  Domitian's 
misrule.  His  father  and  brother  had  been  generals  of 
mark,  and  the  thought  of  his  own  inglorious  campaigns 
soon  faded  from  their  memory ;  they  knew  him  chiefly 
as  a  liberal  paymaster  and  indulgent  chief,  and  thev 
heard  with  discontent  that  the  Flavian  dynasty  had  fall- 
en, and  that  Rome  had  chosen  a  new  ruler.  The  soldiers 
on  the  Danube  broke  out  into  onen  riot  when  thev  heard 
the  news,  and  talked  of  marching  to  avenge  their  mas- 


6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

„  ter.     But  by  good  hap,  a  certain  Dion,    a 

The  mutiny  ,      •  ,     , 

on  the  Dan-  poor  wandering  scholar,  was  at  hand.  Driv. 
byeDionea  C  en  by  tne  fallen  tyrant  into  exile  as  a  phi- 
Uhrysostom.  losopher  of  note,  he  had  lived  a  vagrant  life 
upon  the  frontier,  working  for  a  paltry  pittance  as  a  gar- 
dener's daily  drudge,  and  carrying  in  his  little  bundle, 
for  the  solace  of  his  leisure,  only  the  Phsedon  of  Plato 
and  a  single  oration  of  Demosthenes.  Roused  now  to 
sudden  action  by  the  mutiny  among  the  legions,  he  flung 
aside,  like  the  hero  of  the  Odyssey,  the  rags  that  had 
disguised  him,  and  gathering  a  crowd  together  he  held 
the  rude  soldiers  spellbound  by  the  charms  of  an  elo- 
quence which  had  won  for  him  the  name  of  Chrysostom 
or  Golden-mouthed,  while  he  called  up  before  their  fancy 
the  outrages  that  had  wearied  a  long-suffering  world, 
and  armed  against  the  despot  the  foes  of  his  own  house- 
hold. So  Dion's  well-turned  phrases,  on  which  his  bi- 
ographer dwells  with  admiring  pride,  soothed  the  exci- 
ted mutineers,  and  caused  the  bonds  of  discipline  to  re- 
gain their  hold. 

But  the  praetorians  were  dangerously  near  to  Rome, 
and  had  already  learnt  their  power  to  set  up  or  to  de- 
throne their  rulers.  Their  generals-in  chief  had  taken 
part  in  the  murder  of  Domitian,  and  had  influence 
enough  at  first  to  keep  their  troops  in  hand,  and  make 
them  swear  fealty  to  another  Emperor.  But 
viofenceTthe  discontent  soon  spread  among  them ;  the 
praetorians  creatures  of  Domitian  plied  them  with  in- 
trigues, and  found  mouths  ready  to  complain  of  scanty 
largess  and  of  slow  promotion  under  the  influence  of 
the  new  regime.  The  smouldering  fire  soon  burst  into  a 
flame.  The  guards  marched  in  open  riot  to  the  palace 
With  ominous  cries,  and  clamoured  for  the  murderers' 
heads.     It  was  in  vain  that  Nerva  tried  to  soothe  their 


5)6-98.  Nerva.  7 

fury;  in  vain  he  bared  his  neck  and  bade  them  strike; 
the  ringleaders  would  have  their  will,  and  dragged  their 
victims  off  to  death  before  the  feeble  Em-  ,  . 

caused  the 

peror's    eyes.      Such    a   confession    of  his      Emperor  to 
weakness  was  fatal,  as  he  felt,  to  his  useful-      jan  as  coi_ 
ness   as  a  ruler.     He  knew  that    stronger      ^Sssor!1 
hands  than    his  were  needed   to    steer   the      A-  D-  97- 
state  through  the  troubled  waters,  and  he  resolved  to 
choose  at  once  a  worthy  colleague  and  successor. 

He  chose  with  a  rare  unselfishness  no  kinsman  or  in- 
timate of  his  own,  not  even  a  noble  of  old  Roman  line- 
age, but  a  soldier  of  undoubted  merit,  who  was  then  in 
high  command  among  the  legions  on  the  German  fron- 
tier. A  few  days  afterwards  the  Emperor  made  his  way 
in  state  to  the  temple  on  the  Capitol,  to  offer  thanks  for 
the  news  of  victory  just  brought  from  Pannonia  to  Rome, 
and  there,  in  the  hearing  of  the  crowd,  he  adopted  Tra- 
jan as  his  son,  with  an  earnest  prayer  that  the  choice 
might  prove  a  blessing  to  the  state.  Then  in  the  senate 
house  he  had  the  name  of  Caesar  given  to  his  partner  in 
the  cares  of  office,  and  that  done,  soon  passed  away 
from  life,  after  sixteen  months  of  rule,  which  served  oniy 
as  a  fitting  prelude  to  the  government  of  his  successor. 


CHAPTER  II. 

TRAJAN.      A.D.  97-II7. 

Marcus  Ulpius  Trajanus,  a  native  of  Italica  in  Spain, 
had  been  trained  from  early  youth  in  the  hard  discipline 
of  Roman  warfare,  and  by  long  service  in      Trajan 
the  camps  had  earned  a  title  to  the  round      avenges  the 

1  outrage 

of  civil  honours,  and  to  a  place  among  the      done  to 

Nerva, 

senators  of  Rome.     Summoned  by  Domitan 


S  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

from  Spain  at  the  head  of  a  legion  to  the  Rhine,  he  had 
come  probably  too  late  to  help  in  quelling  a  revolt ;  but 
he  had  won  by  his  promptitude  the  honour  of  a  consul- 
ship, and  was  advanced  by  Nerva  to  the  command  of 
upper  Germany,  then  the  most  important  of  provincial 
offices,  in  which  his  energy  was  being  proved  when  the 
unlooked   for   news   arrived    that    he    was 
chosen  for  the  imperial  succession  ;  and  the 
tidings  of  Nerva's  death  found  him  still  busy  with  his 
military  duties  on  the  Rhine.     He  was  yet 
a.d.  9  .  Jan.       -n  ^e  furi  vigour  of  his  manhood  when  the 

cares  of  state  fell  with  the  purple  mantle  on  his  shoul- 
ders ;  the  changing  scenes  of  his  laborious  life  had  taught 
him  experience  of  men  and  manners,  and  it  was  with  no 
wavering  hands  that  he  took  up  the  reins  of  office,  and  he 
grasped  them  firmly  to  the  end.  Mutiny  and  discontent 
seemed  to  have  vanished  already  at  his  name  ;  but  he 
had  not   forgotten  the  outrage  done  to  Nerva,  nor  the 

parting   charge  in   which    he   prayed   him, 
'  '  42*  like    the    aged    Chryses    in   the    words    of 

Homer,  "  to   avenge  the   suppliant's    unavailing  tears." 
Trajan  was  prompt  and  secret.     The  ringleaders  of  the 
riot  were  called  away  to  Germany  on  various  pleas,  and  ' 
none  came  back  to  tell  how  they  were  treated  there. 

But  though  he  could  enforce  discipline  with  needful 
rigour,  he  had  no   lack  of  reverence  for  constitutional 

forms.     One  of  his  earliest  official  acts  was 

but  writes  ,  ,  .   .,        -  ,     -        . 

to  the  a  letter  to  the  senate,  full  of  regard  for  its 

respectful  august  traditions,  in  the  course  of  which  he 

terms.  promised  to  respect  the  life  of  every  man  of 

worth.  The  credulous  fancy  of  the  age,  as  reported  in  the 
history  of  Dion  Cassius,  saw  the  motive  for  the  promise 
in  a  dream,  in  which  a  venerable  figure  came  before  him, 
clad  in  a  purple  robe  and  with  a  garland  on  his  head— 


£7 -i  1 7-  Trajan.  9 

such  as  was  the  painter's  symbol  for  the  senate — and  laid 
his  finger  upon  Trajan's  neck,  leaving  his  signet  stamp 
first  on  one  side  and  then  upon  the  other.  Whatever 
we  may  think  the  cause,  whether  sense  of  justice  or  mys- 
terious warning  prompted  him  to  write  that  letter,  he  tried 
certainly  to  make  good  the  promise  it  contained,  and 
trod  the  dizzy  heights  of  absolute  power  with  the  calm- 
ness of  a  serene  and  balanced  temper.  He  was  in  no 
haste  to  enter  Rome  or  receive  the  homage  of  the  senate 
and  the  people.  Perhaps  he  breathed  more  freely  in 
the  camp,  where  he  lived  as  simply  as  his  ancient  con? 
rades,  and  mistrusted  the  parade  and  insincerity  of  the 
great  city.  Perhaps  he  waited  till  he  felt  his  throne  se- 
cure, and  till  he  knew  that  the  far-off  legions  had  rati- 
fied the  choice  of  Nerva. 

At  length,  after  a  year's  delay,  he  quietly  set  out  upon 
the  journey,  without  any  stately  train  of  followers  to  bur- 
den with  exactions  the  towns  through  which 
they  passed.     The  only  trace  of  ostentation       year^fdelay 
which   he    showed   was    in    publishing    the      enters 

r  °  Rome  with- 

items  of  his  travelling  expenses  side  by  side      out  parade, 

with  the  accounts  of  the  processions  of  Do- 

mitian. 

At  his  first  entry  into  Rome  there  was  the  same  ab- 
sence of  parade.  He  eschewed  the  white  horses  and 
triumphal  car  of  the  imperial  pageants  ;  no  numerous 
body-guard  kept  the  people  at  a  distance,  but  as  his 
manly  figure  moved  along  the  streets,  men  saw  him  in- 
terchange a  hearty  greeting  with  the  senators  he  met, 
and  pass  no  old  acquaintance  unob- 
served. They  marked  also  the  same  simple  bearingof6 
earnestness  in  the  bearing  of  his  wife  Plo-       ^,s  ™lfe 

°  Plotina. 

tina,  who  walked  calmly  by  his  side,  and 

as  she  passed  into  the  palace  that  was  now  to  be  her 


io  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

home,  prayed  with  a  quiet  emphasis,  in  the  hearing  of 
the  crowd,  that  she  might  leave  it  in  the  same  temper 
that  she  entered  it. 

A  like  unassuming  spirit  was  shown  in  Trajan's  deal- 
ings with  the  senate.  He  called  upon  it  to  resume  its 
_    .    ,  work  as  in  an  age   of  freedom,  and  to  ac- 

T raj  an  s  °  ' 

respect  for         knowledge   the   responsibilities    of    power. 

the  forms  cf         TT       ,  ,,  .      ,     .  , .  .    v 

the  consti-  "e   honestly  respected   its   traditions,   and 

tution,  wished  the  government  to  be  carried  for- 

ward in  its  name.  The  holders  of  official  rank  were  en- 
couraged to  look  upon  themselves  as  ministers  of  state 
and  not  as  servants  of  the  Caesar;  and  the  new  generals 
of  the  imperial  guards  had  their  swords  given  them  with 
the  words,  "  Use  this  in  my  defence  while  I  rule  justly, 
but  against  me  if  I  prove  to  be  unworthy."  For  there 
was  little  danger  now  that  the  old  constitutional  forms 
should  be  misused.  The  senate  was  no  longer  an  as- 
sembly of  great  nobles,  proudly  reliant  on  the  traditions 
of  the  past,  and  on  the  energy  which  had  laid  the  world 
prostrate  at  their  feet.  Many  of  the  old  families  had 
passed  away  ;  their  wealth,  their  eminence,  their  histo- 
ric glories  had  made  them  victims  to  a  tyrant's  jealousy 
or  greed.  Their  places  had  been  taken  by  new  comers 
from  the  provinces  or  creatures  of  imperial  favour,  and  a 
century  had  passed  away  since  the  senate  of  the  com- 
monwealth had  claimed  or  had  deserved  to  rule.  The 
ancient  offices,  even  the  consulship  itself, 

which,  i-i 

venerable  were  little  more  than  empty  honours,  and 

were,  had  no  therefore  passed  rapidly  from  hand  to  hand ; 
real  power.  an(j  even  piiny,  full  as  he  was  of  sentimen- 
tal reverence  for  the  past,  asked  himself  if  the  tribunate 
which  he  held  awhile  had  indeed  any  meaning  for  his 
days,  or  was  only  a  venerable  sham.  Hence  Trajan, 
strong  and  self-reliant  though  he  was,  had  no  jealousy 


97_II7«  Trajan.  n 

of  names  and  titles,  and  cared  little  for  the  outer  forms, 
so  the  work  was  done  as  he  would  have  it.  He  had  lit- 
tle interest  in  meddling  with  the  mere  machinery  of  gov- 
ernment, and  though  some  parts  were  chiefly  ornamen- 
tal, and  others  seemed  rusty  and  out-worn,  yet  he  would 
not  pull  the  whole  to  pieces,  for  the  sake  of  symmetry 
and  finish,  if  there  were  only  working  wheels  enough  to 
bear  the  necessary  strain.  He  knew  that  from  the  force 
of  habit  men  loved  the  venerable  forms,  and  that  vital 
changes  soon  grew  crusted  over  with  the  fanciful  associa- 
tions of  the  past,  till  all  seemed  old  while  all  was  really 
new.  So  new  coins  came  from  his  mints  with  the  sym- 
bols of  the  old  republic  ;  his  courtiers  were  allowed  to 
guard  with  reverent  care  their  statues  of  Brutus  and  Cas- 
sius  and  the  Catos,  and  the  once  dreaded  name  of  lib- 
erty came  freely  to  the  pen  of  every  writer  of  his  day. 

He  shrank  with  instinctive  modesty  from  the  naked 
assertion  of  his  power  ;  not  like  Augustus  from  fear  or 
hypocritic  craft,  and  therefore  with  the  sense 
of  life  long  self-restraint,  but  with  the  frank-      His  homely 

°  manners 

ness  of  a  soldier  who  disliked  high  airs  and      and  frank 
stiff  parade.     He  went  about  the  streets  al- 
most unguarded,  allowed  suitors  of  every  class  an  eas/ 
access  to  his  chamber,  and  took  part  with  genial  courte- 
sy in  the  social  gatherings  of  Rome. 

Flattering  phrases  had  no  music  for  his  ear,  and  made 
him  feel  none  of  the  divinity  of  kingship;  so  he  delayed 
as  long  as  possible  the  customary  honours        .  r    , 

s n d   fc t. i"  1  g ■*> s 

for  his  kinsmen,  and  flatly  refused  to  pose    confidence, 
himself  as  a  deity  before  the  time.     It  was 
therefore  only  natural  for  him  to   rebuke  the  officious 
zeal  of  the  informers  who  reported  words   or  acts  of 
seeming  disrespect,  and  the  old  laws  of  treason  which 
had  covered   charges,  so  fatal    because  so    ill-defined, 


12  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  AZ>. 

dropped  for  a  while  at  least  into  abeyance.  After  the 
morbid  suspicions  of  Domitian  men  could  hardly  under- 
stand at  first  the  fearless  trustfulness  of  the  present  ru- 
ler, and  still  told  him  of  their  fears  and  whispered  their 
misgivings  of  many  a  possible  malcontent  and  traitor. 

One  case  of  this  kind  may  be  singled  out  to  throw 
light  upon  the  Emperor's  temper.  Licinius  Sura  was  one 
of  the  wealthiest  of  living  Romans,  and  a  marked  figure 
in  the  social  circles  in  which  the  intimates  of  Trajan 
moved.  He  had  won  his  sovereign's  confidence,  who 
owed  his  throne,  as  it  was  said,  to  Sura's  influence  when 
Nerva  was  looking  round  for  a  successor.  Yet  sinister 
rumours  of  disloyal  plots  were  coupled  with  his  name, 
and  zealous  friends  soon  brought  the  stories  to  the  Em- 
peror's ear,  and  wearied  him  with  their  repeated  warn- 
ings. At  last  he  started  on  a  visit  to  Licinius  himself, 
sent  his  guards  home,  and  chatted  freely  with  his  host, 
then  asked  to  see  the  servant  who  acted  as  the  doctor 
of  the  house,  and  had  himself  dosed  for  some  slight  ail- 
ment. After  this  he  begged  to  have  his  friend's  own 
barber  sent  to  him  to  trim  his  beard  as  he  sat  talking  on  ; 
and  that  done,  he  stayed  to  dinner,  took  his  leave,  and 
went  away  without  one  word  or  symptom  of  suspicion. 
Ever  afterwards  he  said  to  those  who  came  to  him  with 
any  ugly  tale  about  Licinius,  "Why  did  he  spare  me 
then,  when  he  had  me  in  his  power,  and  his  servant's 
hand  was  on  my  throat  ?" 

But  probably  his  special  merit  in  the  eyes  of  all  classes 
in  Italy  save  the  very  poorest  was  his  frugal  thrift.  Au- 
„.  c      .  gustus   had  husbanded    with    care  the  re- 

His  frugal  ° 

thrift,  sources  of  the  state  and  restored  the  finan- 

cial credit  of  the  empire  ;  but  he  drew  large- 
ly from  the  purses  of  his  subjects,  had  recourse  at  first 
to  proscriptions  and  forced  loans,  and  in  spite  of  angry 


97-H7-  Trajan.  13 

clamour  had  imposed  succession  duties  which  were 
odious  to  all  the  wealthy  Romans.  Vespasian  had  ruled 
with  wise  economy  and  replenished  his  exhausted  cof- 
fers ;  but  then  his  name  recalled  the  memory  of  a  mean 
and  sordid  parsimony  that  trafficked  and  haggled  for  the 
pettiest  gains.  Most  of  the  other  Caesars  had  supplied 
their  needs  by  rapine  ;  had  struck  down  wealthy  victims 
when  they  coveted  their  lands  or  mansions,  or  had  let 
the  informers  loose  upon  their  prey,  to  harry  and  to  pro- 
secute, and  to  rake  the  spoils  into  the  Em- 
peror's privy  purse.  But  Trajan  checked  n"ht^nsthne° 
with  a  firm  hand  all  the  fiscal  abuses  of  the      burdens  of 

taxation, 

last  century  that  were  brought  belore  his 
eye,  withdrew  all  bounties  and  encouragements  from  the 
informers,  and  had  the  disputed  claims  of  his  own  agents 
brought  before  the  courts  of  law  and  decided  on  their  le- 
gal merits.  The  presents  which  town  councils  and 
other  corporate  bodies  had  offered  to  each  sovereign  at 
his  accession  had  grown  into  a  burdensome  exaction, 
and  they  heard  with  thankfulness  that  Trajan  would 
take  nothing  at  their  hands. 

The  pressure  of  the  succession  duties  too  was  light- 
ened ;  near  kinsmen  were  exempted  from  the  charge, 
and  a  minimum  of  property  was  fixed  below  which  the 
heir  paid  nothing.  Men's  dying  wishes  also  were  re- 
spected. No  longer  were  greedy  hands  laid  on  their 
property  in  the  interests  of  Caesar,  nor  quibbling  charges 
brought  to  quash  their  wills ;  the  legacies  that  fell  to 
Trajan  were  the  tokens  of  a  genuine  regard,  and  not  the 
poor  shifts  of  a  dissembling  fear  which  sacrificed  a  part 
to  save  the  rest. 

A  financial  policy  so  just  and  liberal  was  hailed  on  all 
sides  with  a  hearty  welcome,  but  shrewd  heads  may  well 
have  thought  there  was  a  danger  that  such  self-denial 


A.D.    IOO. 


14  The  Age  of  the  Antonints.  A.D* 

might  be  pushed  too  far.     The  cool  account- 

excite   the 

surprise  of         ants  and  close-handed  agents   of  the  trea- 
Pnny.  sury  murmure(j  probably  that  the  state  would 

be  bankrupt  if  systems  so    lax  came   into  vogue  ,  and 

even  Pliny  in  his  stately  panegyric,  after  a 

passing  jest  at  their  expense,  stays  the  cur- 
rent of  his  unbroken  praise  to  hint  that  there  may  pos- 
sibly be  rocks  ahead.  "  When  I  think,"  he  says  "  of  the 
loyal  offerings  declined,  of  the  imperial  dues  remitted  by 
the  treasury,  of  the  informers  thrust  aside,  and  then  again 
of  the  largess  granted  to  the  soldiers  and  the  people,  I 
am  tempted  to  enquire  whether  you  have  balanced  care- 
fully enough  the  ways  and  means  of  the  imperial  budget." 
And  indeed  the  Roman  ruler's  purse  was  not  too  full, 
nor  was  it  an  easy  task  to  meet  the  calls  upon  it. 

The  charges  of  the  civil  service  were  a  new  burden  of 
the  empire.     In  the  best  days  of  the  republic  men  served 

their  country  from  a  sense  of  duty  or  for 
could  save         honour ;  in  the  worst  age  of  its  decline  they 

received  no  pay  directly  from  the  state,  but 
pillaged  the  poor  provincials  %t  their  mercy.  Now  sala- 
ries were  given  to  all  the  officials  of  the  central  govern- 
ment throughout  the  Roman  world,  save  a  few  only  in 
the  capital,  and  the  outlay  on  this  head  tended  always  to 
mount  higher  as  the  mechanism  in  each  department  grew 
more  complex.  The  world  had  been  conquered  at  the 
first  by  troops  of  citizens,  serving  only  on  short  cam- 
paigns ;  and  in  after  years  the  needy  soldiers  of  the  later 
commonwealth  were  in  great  measure  fed  and  pensioned 
out  of  the  plunder  of  the  provinces  :  but  the  standing 
armies  now  encamped  upon  the  borders  of  the  empire, 
though  small  if  measured  by  the  standard  of  our  modern 
life,  were  large  enough  to  make  their  maintenance  a 
problem  somewhat  hard  to  solve.     The  dissolute  popu- 


97-117*  Trajan.  15 

lace  of  Rome,  too  proud  to  work  but  not  to  beg,  looked 
to  have  their  food  and  pleasures  provided  for  them  by 
the  state,  and  were  likely  to  rise  in  riotous  discontent  if 
their  civil  list  were  pared  too  close. 

Under  these  heads  there  was  little  saving  to  be  made, 
and  it  remained  only  for  the  Emperor  to  stint  himself. 
Happily  he  had  few  costly  tastes,  no  pam- 

\   r  ■  ,  ,  ,  .  except  in  the 

pered  favourites  to  be  endowed,  no  passion    Emperor's 
for  building  sumptuous  palaces,  no  'wish  to    expenditure, 
squander  the  revenues  of  a  province  on  a  sin- 
gle stately  pageant,  to  be  a  nine  days'  wonder  to  the  world. 
He  was  blessed  too  with  a  wife  of  rare  discretion.     Con- 
tent like  the  old  Roman  matrons  to  rule  her  house  with 
singleness  of  heart  and   be  the  life-long  partner  of  her 
husband's  cares,  Plotina  showed  no  restless  vanity  as  the 
queen  of  changing  fashions   in  the  gay  society  of  the 
great  city,  but  discouraged  luxury  and  ostentation,  and 
was  best  pleased  to  figure  in  the  coinage  of  her  times  as 
the    familiar    type    of   wifely    fidelity   and    T 

-  .    ,  Large  outlay 

womanly  decorum.  Little  was  spent  upon  on  public 
the  imperial  household,  but  there  was  large 
outlay  on  great  public  works,  planned  and  carried  out 
with  grand  magnificence.  Gradually  by  patient  thrift  the 
funds  were  gathered  for  such  ends  as  trade  revived,  and 
credit  was  restored,  and  capital  came  forth  once  more 
from  its  hiding  places  in  an  epoch  of  mutual  confidence 
and  justice.  As  the  national  wealth  increased  under  the 
influence  of  favouring  conditions,  the  burdens  of  taxation 
pressed  less  heavily,  while  the  revenues  of  the  state  grew 
larger  every  year. 

Safety  and  ease  of  intercourse  are  among  the  primary 
needs  of  civilized  life,  and  the  Romans  might  be  proud 
of  being  the  great  road-makers  of  the   an- 

00  on  roads, 

cient  world.     But  of  late  years,  we  read,  the 


1 6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

needful  works  had  been  neglected,  and  some  of  the  fa- 
mous highways  of  old  times  were  fast  falling  into  disre- 
pair. The  Appian  above  all,  the  queen  of  roads  as  it 
had  once  been  styled,  was  figured  in  the  coins  and  bas- 
reliefs  of  Trajan's  reign  as  a  woman  leaning  on  a  wheel, 
and  imploring  the  Emperor  to  come  to  her  relief.  Suc- 
cour was  given  with  a  liberal  hand,  and  where  it  ran 
through  the  dangerous  Pontine  marshes,  foundations  of 
solid  stone  were  raised  above  the  surface  of  the  boggy 
soil,  bridges  were  built  over  the  winding  rivulets,  and 
houses  of  refuge  erected  here  and  there  along  the  way. 

Other  parts  of  Italy  were  also  the  objects  of  like  care. 
Three  new  roads  at  least  connected  the  great  towns  that 
lay  upon  the  coast,  and  though  the  fragmentary  annals 
of  the  times  make  no  mention  of  them,  the  milestones 
or  monuments  since  found  speak  of  the  careful  fore- 
thought of  the  ruler  whose  name  they  bore.  We  have 
also  in  like  forms  in  other  countries  the  same  enduring" 

witnesses  to  roads  and  works  like  the  famous 
bridges  bridge  of  Alcantara ;  and  the  cost  of  these 

was  sometimes  met  by  his  own  privy  purse, 
sometimes  by  the  imperial  treasury,  or  else  by  the  cor- 
porate funds  of  neighbouring  towns. 

Much  was  done  too  in  the  interests  of  trade  to  open 
up  Italy  to  foreign  navies.  The  old  port  of  Ostia,  deep- 
ened and  improved  a  century  before,  had  been  nearly 
choked  by  sand  and  mud.    Fresh  efforts  were  now  made 

to  arrest  the  forces  of  decay,  and  under  the 

and  ports,  e  _ 

new  name  of  Trajan  s  Port  it  appears  upon 
the  faces  of  the  coins  as  a  wide  bay  in  which  triremes 
could  ride  at  anchor.  But  Rome  seemed  to  need  a  safer 
outlet  to  the   sea,  as   the  old  one  at  the  Tiber's  mouth 

was  really  doomed  to  fail.     A  new  port  was 

a  d.  106  or  r 

107.  therefore  made  at  Centumcellae,  the  Civita 


97-H7-  '  Trajan.  17 

Vecchia  of  later  days.      Pliny,    who   went 
there  on  a  visit  when   the   work  was  going 
on,  describes  in  lively  style  what  was  being         P1,ny>  V1- 
done  before  his  eyes,  and  tells  of  the  break- 
water which,  rising  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbour,  looked 
almost  like  a   natural  island,  though  formed  of  rocks 
from  the  mainland. 

A  third  work  of  the  same  kind  was  carried  forward  on 
the  other  coast,  in  the  harbour  of  Ancona  ;  and  a  grand 
triumphal  arch,  built  of  enormous  blocks  of  stone,  is  left 
still  standing  to  record  the   senate's  grateful  praises  of 
the  ruler  who  had  spent  so  much  of  his  own 
purse  to  open  Italy  and  make  the  seas  se-      before  a.  d. 
cure.     The  Isthmus  of  Suez  too  was  cared 
for  in  the  interests  of  trade  ;    and  the  name  of  Trajan 
which  it  bears  in  Ptolemy  points  to  the  efforts  of  the  mo- 
narch to  carry  out  the  needful  works  in   connexion  with 
the  granite  quarries  of  the  neighbouring  Claudian  range, 
in  which  inscriptions  of  the  period  are  found.     Nor  was 
Rome   neglected   while    other   lands   were 
cared    for.      The    great   aqueducts    of    the         5nd  nquft" 

&  n  ducts, 

republic    and   the  early  empire   were    not 
now  enough  to  content  the  citizens  of  Rome,  and  com- 
plaints  were    often    heard   that   the    streams   of    water 
brought  in  them  from  the  hills  far  away  were  often  tur- 
bid  and    impure,  and  polluted  by  the  carelessness  of 
those  who  used  them.     But  now  the  various  sources  of 
supply  were  kept  carefully  distinct,   a  lake 
was  formed   in    and  reserved   for   separate 
uses  ;    which  the  waters  of  the   Anio  might  stand  and 
clear  themselves  after  their  headlong  course  over  the 
rough  mountain  ground;    and  besides   these    and   the 
purer  streams  of  the  Aqua  Marcia,  others  were  provided 
by   the  bounty  of  the   present  ruler  and  specially  ho- 


iS  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

noured  with  his  name.  For  nearly  300,000  Roman 
paces  the  various  aqueducts  were  carried  on  the  long 
lines  of  countless  arches,  and  their  vast  remains  still 
move  the  traveller's  wonder  as  he  sees  them  stretch 
from  the  city  walls  far  into  the  Campagna,  or  perhaps 
even  more  as  he  comes  here  and  there  upon  some  state- 
ly fragment  in  the  lonely  valleys  of  the  Sabine  hills. 

The  policy  of  the  great  statesmen  of  the  Augustan 
age,  the  vanity  and  pomp  of  other  rulers,  had  filled  the 

capital    with    great   buildings   destined   for 
and  theatres      every  variety  of  use;    but  as  if  the  supply 

was  still  too  scanty,  fresh  baths  and  porti- 
coes and  theatres  were  raised  to  speak  to  future  ages  of 
the  sovereign  who  lived  simply  but  built-*  grandly.  For 
his  own  personal  comfort,  it  would  seem,  no  mason  toiled, 
and  when  the  great  circus  was  enlarged  to  hold  some 
thousand  more  spectators,  the  Emperor's  balcony  was 
swept  away,  and  no  projecting  lines  were  left  to  interrupt 
the  people's  view.  Pliny  had  once  said  of  him,  in  the 
formal  eulogy  of  earlier  days,  that  his  modesty  of  temper 
led  him  to  preserve  the  old  works  rather  than  raise  new 
ones  and  that  the  streets  of  Rome  at  last  had  rest  from 
the  heavy  loads  of  the  contractor's  waggons.  And  this 
was  true  perhaps  of  the  first  years  of  his  reign  ;  it  may 
have  held  good  always  of  the  wants  of  himself  and  of 
his  family ;  but  it  seems  a  ouritms  contrast  to  the  words 
in  which,  after  seeing  Trajan's  name  inscribed  on  one 
after  another  of  the  national  monuments  which  he  had 
raised,  Constantine  compared  it  to  the  parasitic  herb 
which  grew  as  a  thing  of  course  on  every  wall.  But  in 
,    ,      all  this  he  was  only  following  the  imperial 

without  fresh  .  '  - 

burdens  traditions,  and   the    only  trace    of    novelty 

of  taxation.  ,,  ,  ,         .., 

therein  was  ooing  so  much  without  putting 
fresh  burdens  on  his  people. 


q  7—1 1 7.  Trajan.  19 

Another  form  of  outlay  showed  a  more  original  con- 
ception, and  the  end  and  means  in  this  case  were  both 
new.  In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  some 
peasants  near  Placentia  (Piacenza)  turned  up  with  the 
plough  a  bronze  tablet,  which  was  no  less 

,  r  ,  ,  r      ,    ,  •    i  1     /-  The  charitable 

than  ten  feet  broad,  six  feet  high,  and  000  endowments 
pounds  in  weight.  It  was  soon  broken  into  -^g^ 
pieces,  some  of  which  were  sold  as  old  osetal 
to  be  melted  down  for  bells,  but  happily  they  caught  the 
eyes  of  men  who  had  scholarship  enough  to  read  the 
Latin  words  engraved  on  them..  By  their  liberality  and 
zeal  the  other  fragments  were  bought  up,  and  the  whole 
when  pieced  together  brought  to  light  one  of  the  longest 
classical  inscriptions  yet  discovered,  written  in  as  many 
as  670  lines.  It  consists  of  mortgage  deeds  by  which 
lar^e  sums  were  lent  by  the  Emperor  on  landed  property 
throughout  some  districts  near  Placentia.  The  names  of 
the  several  farms  and  owners,  and  the  various  amounts, 
were  specified  in  great  detail,  and  the  interest  at  five  per 
cent,  was  to  be  paid  over  to  a  fund  for  the  maintenance 
of  poor  boys  and  girls  whose  number  and  pensions  were 
defined.  Fragments  of  a  like  inscription  have  been 
found  since  then  at  Beneventum,  and  we  have  reason 
to  believe  that  throughout  Italy  there  were  similar  pro- 
visions for  a  measure  which  history  speaks  of  in  quite 
general  terms. 

In  this  there  are  several  things  that  call  for  notice. 
First  as  to  the  end  proposed.  In  Rome  itself  there  had 
been  for  two  centuries  a  sort  of  poor  law  system,  by 
which  manv  thousands  of  the  citizens  had  received  their 
monthly  dole  of  corn.  No  Emperor  had  been  rash 
enough  to  repeal  this  law,  though  thoughtful  statesmen 
mourned  over  the  lazy  able-bodied  paupers  crowded  in 
the  capital,  and  the  discouragement  to  industry  abroad 


20  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

The  custom  in  old  times  had  grown  out  of  no  tenderness 
of  charity,  but  from  the  wish  to  keep  the  populace  in 
good  humour  at  the  expense  of  the  provincials  who  had 
to  pay  the  cost,  and  in  later  times  it  was  kept  up  from 
fear  of  the  riots  that  might  follow  if  the  stream  ceased 
to  flow.  But  in  all  parts  there  were  helpless  orphans,  or 
children  of  the  destitute  and  disabled,  to  whom  the 
world  was  hard  and  pitiless,  and  for  whom 

ihe  novelty 

and  use  of  real  charity  was  needed.  From  these  the 
actual  government  had  nothing  to  hope, 
nothing  to  fear,  and  to  care  for  these  was  to  recognise  a 
moral  duty  which  had  never  been  owned  on  a  large 
scale  by  any  ruler  before  Trajan.  There  was  yet  this 
further  reason  to  make  their  claim  more  pressing,  in 
that  it  rested  with  the  father's  will  to  expose  or  rear  the 
new-born  babe.  Infanticide  was  sadly  common  as  hope 
and  industry  declined,  and  good  land  was  passing  into 
desert  from  want  of  hands  to  till  the  soil.  There  was 
no  fear  then  that  the  increase  of  population  should  out- 
run the  means  of  living;  but  there  was  danger  that  the 
selfish  or  improvident  should  decline  the  cares  of  father- 
hood, hurry  out  of  life  again  those  whom 
shotwnnin,lheip  they  had  called  into  the  world,  or  leave 
form  of  the        them  to  struggle  at  haphazard  through  the 

endowment.  °°  r  ° 

tender  years  of  childhood.  As  to  the  end 
therefore  we  may  say  that  tender-heartedness  was  shown 
in  caring  for  the  young  and  helpless,  and  also  states- 
manship in  trying  to  rear  more  husbandmen  to  till  the 
fields  of  Italy.  The  coins  and  monuments  bring  both  of 
these  aims  before  our  eyes,  sometimes  portraying  Trajan 
as  raising  from  the  ground  women  kneeling  with  their 
little  ones,  at  other  times  referring  to  the  methods  by 
which  he  had  provided  for  the  eternity  of  his  dear 
Italy. 


9  7~i  1 7-  Trajan.  2 1 

As  to  means,  again,  we  may  note  the  measures  taken 
to  set  on  foot  a  lasting  system.  Payments  from  the 
treasury  made  by  one  ruler  might  have  been  withdrawn 
by  his  successor ;  personal  caprice  or  the  pressure  of 
other  needs  might  cause  the  funds  to  be  withheld,  and 
starve  the  charitable  work.  The  endowment  therefore 
took  the  form  of  loans  made  to  the  landowners  through- 
out the  country,  and  the  interest  was  paid  by  them  to  a 
special  Bounty  Office,  for  which  commissioners  were 
named  each  year  to  collect  and  to  dispense  the  sums 
accruing.  There  was  also  this  advantage  in  the  course, 
that  the  landed  interest  gained  by  the  new  capital  em- 
ployed upon  the  soil,  while  needful  works,  brought  to  a 
standstill  for  the  want  of  funds,  could  be  pushed  forward 
with  fresh  vigour,  to  multiply  the  resources  of  the 
country. 

Lastly,  we  may  be  curious  to  know  something  more  of 
the  results.  The  government  had  done  so  much  that 
it  micrht  well  have   been  expected  that  the 

&  r  Others  act 

work  would  be  taken  up  by  other  hands,  and  in  a  like 
that  kindly  charities  of  the  same  sort  would 
spread  fast  among  the  wealthy.  And  some  did  copy  the 
fashion  set  them  from  above.  Pliny  in  his  letters  tells  us 
how  he  had  acted  in  like  spirit,  by  saddling  some  estates 
with  a  rent  charge  which  was  always  to  be  spent  on  the 
maintenance  of  poor  boys  and  girls,  and  we  may  still 
read  an  inscription  in  which  the  town  of  Como  gives  him 
thanks  for  the  kindly  charity  of  his  endowment.  His 
beneficence  dates  probably  in  its  earliest  form  from 
Nerva's  reign,  but  others  seemingly  began  to  follow  the 
example  of  their  rulers,  for  the  legal  codes  speak  of 
it  as  a  practice  not  uncommon  ;  and  each  of  the  three 
Emperors  who  followed  gave  something  to  help  on 
the  cause,  in  the  interest  more  often  of  the  girls  than  of 


22  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

the  boys,  because  perhaps  they  had  been  less  cared  for 
hitherto,  and  at  their  birth  Roman  fathers  more  often 
refused  to  bear  the  expense  of  rearing  them. 

But  in  the  darker  times  that  were  presently  in  store, 
later  rulers  found  the  treasury  bankrupt,  and  laid  greedy 
hands  upon  the  funds  which  for  a  century  had  helped  so 
many  through  the  years  of  helplessness,  and  all  notice 
of  them  vanishes  at  last  from  history  in  the  strife  and 
turmoil  of  the  ages  of  decline. 

The  beneficence  of  former  rulers,  we  have  seen,  took 
the  questionable  form  of  monthly  doles  of  cdrn  to  the 
_,       ,.  populace  of  Rome.     To  fill  the  granaries  and 

The  policy  r    L  ° 

of  Trajan  stock  the  markets  of  the  capital  they  had 

with    regard         ,,         .    .,  .,.,.,,  , 

to  the  corn  the  tribute  paid  in  kind  by  the  great  corn- 
trade,  bearing  provinces.  They  had  bought  up 
large  quantities  of  grain  and  fixed  an  arbitrary  scale  of 
prices,  had  forbidden  the  export  of  produce  to  any  but 
Italian  ports,  and  had  watched  over  Egypt  with  a  jealous 
care  as  the  storehouse  of  the  empire,  in  which  at  first  no 
Roman  noble  might  even  land  without  a  passport  But 
Trajan  had  the  breadth  of  view  to  begin  a  more  enlight- 
ened policy.  He  trusted  wholly  to  free  trade  to  balance 
the  supply  and  the  demand,  declined  to  fix  a  legal  maxi- 
mum for  what  he  bought,  and  trusted  the  producers  to 
bring  the  supplies  in  their  own  way  to  Rome.  Egypt  it- 
self was  suffering  from  a  dearth  because  the  Nile  refused 
to  rise  ;  but  happily  elsewhere  the  failure  of  her  stores 
was  lightly  felt,  for,  thanks  to  the  freedom  of  the  carry- 
ing trade,  other  rich  countries  stepped  into  her  place,  and 
after  keeping  the  markets  of  Italy  supplied,  even  fed 
Egypt  with  the  surplus. 

Trajan's  treatment  of  provincial  interests  showed  the 
same  large-minded  policy.  A  curious  light  is  thrown 
upon   the  subject  by  the  letters  written  to  him  by  Pliny 


/ 


97-I,7-  Trajan.  23 

while  governor  of  Bithynia,  and  these  are  still  left  for  us 
to  read,  together  with  the  Emperor's  replies. 

First  we    may  notice   by  their  help  how       His  treat- 

1  r  ment  of  pro- 

large  a  range  of  local  freedom  and  self-go-       vincial  in- 

vernment  remained  throughout  the  Roman  shown  in  the 

empire.      Though  in  that  distant  province  enceewithd" 

there  were  few  citizens  of  the  highest  class,  Pliny,  a.d. 

and  scarcely  any  municipia  or  colonies,  yet 

the  currents  of  free  civic  life  flowed  strongly.  HbertTe? 

Popular   assemblies,    senates,    and    elected  ex>sted  on 

1  '  sufferance; 

magistrates  managed  the  affairs  of  every 
petty  town  ;  the  richest  men  were  proud  to  serve  their 
countrymen  in  posts  of  honour,  and  to  spend  largely  of 
their  means  in  the  interest  of  all.  But  these  privileges, 
though  in  some  few  cases  guaranteed  by  special  treaty 
dating  from  the  times  of  conquest,  had  commonly  no  le- 
gal safeguard  to  secure  them  ;  they  lasted  on  by  suffer- 
ance only,  because  the  Roman  governors  had  neither 
will  nor  leisure  to  rule  all  the  details  of  social  life  around 
them.  The  latter  had,  however,  large  powers  of  interfe- 
rence, subject  only  to  appeal  to  Rome;  and 
if  they  were  passionate  or  venal  they  abused       provin- 

,      .  .r  .  .  cial 

their   power   to    gratily    caprice    or    greed,       governors 
though  often  called  to  account  for  their  mis-       tempte^to 
deeds  when  their  term  of  office  had  expired.       interfere 
Conscientious  rulers  were  also  tempted  to 
meddle  or  dictate,  sometimes  from  the  strong  man's  in- 
stinctive grasp  of  power,  sometimes  from  impatience  of 
disorder  and  confusion,  or  from  a  love  of  symmetry  and 
uniformity  of   system  ;    and  above  all   it  seemed  their 
duty  to  step  in  to  prevent  such  waste  or  misuse  of  public 
funds  as  might  burden  future  ages  or  dry  the  sources  of 
the  streams  that  fed  the  imperial  treasury. 

Pliny  was  a  talker  and  a  student  rather  than  a  man 


24  The  Age  cf  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

of  action,  and  feeling  the  weight  of  power  heavy,  he 
leant  upon  the  Emperor  for  support  and  guidance.  Not 
content  with  referring  to  his  judgment  all  grave  ques- 
tions, he  often  wrote  on  things  of  very  little 
Pliny*  who  moment.  "  Prusa  has  an  old  and  dirty 
refers  even         bath ;    may  not  the  town   enlarge  it  on   a 

petty  ques-  '  J  ° 

tions  to  the        scale  more  worthy  of  the   credit  of  the  city 

Emperor.  1111  r  • 

and  the  splendour  of  your  reign  ?  "  The 
aqueduct  at  Nicomedia  is  in  ruins,  though  large  sums 
have  been  wasted  more  than  once  upon  the  works.  As 
they  really  are  in  want  of  water,  would  it  not  be  well  to 
see  that  they  spend  their  money  wisely,  and  use  up  the 
old  materials  as  far  as  they  will  go,  though  for  the  rest 
bricks  will  be  cheaper  than  hewn  stone  ?  "  "  The  thea- 
tre and  gymnasium  at  Nicaea  have  been  very  badly 
built,  ought  not  an  architect  to  be  employed  to  see  if 
they  can  be  repaired  without  throwing  good  money  after 
bad?"  "  Nicomedia  would  like  to  enlarge  the  area  of 
its  market-place,  but  an  old,  half-ruined  temple  of  the 
Great  Goddess  stops  the  way.  Might  it  not  be  transferred 
to  a  new  site,  as  I  can  find,  nothing  in  the  form  of  con- 
secration to  forbid  it  ?  Also  there  has  beeri  great  havoc 
done  by  fire  of  late  in  the  same  city  for  the  want  of  en- 
gines and  the  men  to  work  them  ;  would  there  be  any 
danger  in  setting  up  a  guild  of  firemen  to  meet  like  ca- 
ses in  the  future,  if  all  due  care  is  taken  against  possible 
abuses  ?  "  On  some  of  these  points  indeed  the  Emperor 
might  wish  to  be  consulted,  as  they  had  to  do  with  the 
power  of  the  purse.  But  he  read  with  more  impatience 
the  requests  that  Pliny  made  to  him  to  have  architects 
and  surveyors  sent  from  Rome  to  carry  out  the  works  : 
he  reminded  him  that  such  artists  were  no  specialty  of 
Italian  growth,  but  were  trained  more  easily  in  Greece 
and  Asia.     Still  more  emphatic  is  the  language  in  which 


97-H7-  Trajan.  25 

he  rebuked  his  minister's  ill-timed  zeal,  which  would 
make  light  of  the  charters  and  traditions  of  the  province. 
He  tells  him  that  it  might  be  convenient,  but  would  not 
be  seemly,  to  force  the  town  councillors,  as  he  wished, 
to  take  up  at  interest  on  loan  the  public  funds 
which  were  then  lying  idle  ;  that  the  old  Wouidre- 
privilege  of  Apamea  to  draw  up  its  budget  ^ges^and 
for  itself  without  control  must  be  respected,       not  meddle 

,  .    .  TT     ,  •    ,  needlessly, 

anomaly  as  it  might  seem.  He  has  no  wish, 
for  the  mere  sake  of  symmetry,  to  set  aside  the  variety 
of  local  usages  as  to  the  entrance  fees  paid  on  admission 
to  the  senates ;  and  in  general  he  repeats  that  he  will 
have  no  wanton  meddling  with  any  rights  based  on  real 
charters,  or  with  any  old-established  customs. 

As  we  read  the  letters,  we   admire   the   cautious  self- 
restraint  of  Trajan  in  refusing  to  allow  smooth  systems 
of  centralized  machinery  to  take  the  place 
of  the  motley  aggregate  of  local  usages  :  but      ?r  centr<?'- 
there  are  also  to  be  noted  some  ominous  to- 
kens for  the  future.     If  the  gentle  Pliny  while  in  office 
under  Trajan  was  tempted  to  propose  despotic  measures, 
would  not  other  ministers   be  likely  to  go  further  in  that 
course,  with  more  favour  from  their  master  ?    If  the  cen- 
tral government  had  such  watchful  care  already  for  the 
revenues  of  every  town,  would  it  not   in   time  of  need 
help  itself  freely  to  the  funds  which  it  had  husbanded  so 
jealously  ? 

The  answer  to  these  questions  would  reveal  in  a  later 
age  two  causes  of  the  empire's  slow  decline,  the  paraly- 
sis of  the  local  energy  which  was  displaced  by  central- 
ized bureaux,  and  the  exhaustion  of  a  society  overbur- 
dened by  taxation. 

Great  as  were  Trajan's  merits  in  the  arts  of  peace,  the 
world  knew  him  chiefly  as  a  soldier,  renewing  after  a 


26  The  Age  of  the  A?itonines.  a.d. 

The  world  century  of  disuse  the  imperial  traditions  of 
knew  most  the  early  Caesars.  The  genius  of  Julius, 
niiii.ary n  the  steady  progress  of  the  generals  of  Au- 

loweis,  gustus,  had  carried  the  conquering  arms  of 

Rome  into  new  lands,  and  pushed  the  frontiers  forward 
till  well-defined  natural  boundaries  were  reached.  Since 
then  there  had  been  little  effort  to  go  onward,  and  save 
in  the  case  of  Britain,  no  conquest  of  importance  had 
been  made.  The  Emperors  had  kept  their  generals  to 
the  border  camps,  and  had  shown  little  taste  for  warlike 
enterprise;  even  those  who,  like  Vespasian,  had  been 
trained  as  soldiers,  found  the  round  of  official  work  task 
all  their  energies  at  Rome,  or  feared  the  risk  of  a  long 
absence  in  a  far-off  province.  Trajan  had  other  views. 
It  seemed  to  him  perhaps  that  the  machinery 
earlier  of  central  government  was  working  smooth- 

policy  was  ly  and  securely,  while  his  own  warlike  qual- 
one  p   war.        jtjeg   were    rusting   away    for   want    of  use. 

Policy  might  whisper  that  an  empire  won  by  force  must 
be  maintained  by  constant  drill  and  timely  energy,  and 
that  the  spirit  of  the  legions  might  grow  faint  if  they  were 
always  cooped  up  in  border  camps  in  the  dull  routine  of 
an  inglorious  service,  while  the  neighbouring  races  of 
the  north  were  showing  daily  a  bolder  and  more  threat- 
ening front. 

On  the  side  of  Germany  indeed  there  was  for  a  while 
no  pressing  danger.  The  hostile  tribes  were  weakened 
by  their  internecine  struggles,  and  the  "  Germania  "  of 
Tacitus,  which  was  written  early  in  this  reign,  records  in 
tones  of  cruel  triumph  the  bloody  feuds  which  had  al- 
most blotted  from  the  book  of  nations  the  name  of  the 
once  powerful  Bructeri.  But  in  the  Roman  ranks  them- 
selves there  had  been  license  and  disorder,  and  Trajan 
seems  to  have  been  sent  by  Domitian  to  hold  the  chief 


9  7_  x  1 7  •  Trajan.  2  7 

command  upon  the  Rhine,  as  a  general  who  could  be 
trusted  to  tighten  the  bands  of  discipline  and  secure  the 
wavering  loyalty  of  the  legions.  One  of  their  chiefs  had 
lately  risen  in  revolt  against  his  master,  and  the  mutiny, 
though  soon  put  down,  had  left  behind  it  a  smouldering- 
discontent  and  restlessness  in  the  temper  of  the  soldiers. 
The  spirit  of  discipline  had  commonly  declined  at  once 
when  the  highest  posts  were  filled  by  weak       ~     ,      . , 

.  On  the  side 

and  selfish  generals,  and  it  needed  a  strong       of  Germany 

111  -i         r  ne  had  been 

and  a  resolute  will  to  check  the  evils  01  mis-      content  to 
rule.     He  found  work  enough  ready  to  his       ^frontier 
hand  to  last  for  years,  and  even  the  tidings       wnhdefen- 

■*  °  sive  works, 

of  his  great  rise  in  life,  and  of  the  death  of       and  he  did 

,T  ,.  ,  ,  .         r  .  not  care  to 

Nerva,  did  not  tempt  him  for  some  time  to      return. 
leave  his  post  of  military  duty. 

He  left  some  enduring  traces  of  his  organizing  care  in 
the  towns  and  fortresses  which  he  founded  or  restored, 
and  in  the  great  line  of  defence  which  he  strengthened 
on  the  frontier.  On  the  site  of  the  old  camp  or  fort  {cas- 
tra  vetera)  which  was  stormed  by  the  Germans  in  the 
war  of  6y,  he  built  the  colony  of  Ulpia  Trajana,  the 
name  of  which  reappears  in  the  curious  form  of  the 
"little  Troy''  in  the  early  German  poems,  and  helped  to 
give  currency  to  the  old  fancy  that  the  Franks  had  come 
from  Troy;  while  in  a  later  age  it  changed  to  that  of 
Xanten  (urbs  Sanctorum)  as  the  supposed  scene  of  the 
great  massacre  of  Victor  and  his  sainted  followers  by  the 
Theban  legion.  Among  the  many  scenes  which  he 
chose  for  colonies  or  castles,  the  most  famous  pro- 
bably in  later  times  was  that  of  Aquae  (Baden-Baden) 
where  many  traces  have  been  found  of  the  legions 
which  were  serving  under  him,  and  of  the  soldiers  who 
probably  were  often  glad  to  take  the  waters  there,  like 
the  invalids  of  later  days.     But  the  greatest  works  on 


2b  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.b. 

this  side  of  the  empire  were  carried  on  for  the  defence 
of  the  tithe  grounds  ("Agri  decumates  ")  between  the 
Danube  and  the  Rhine,  to  which  colonists  had  been  in- 
vited from  all  parts  of  Gaul  with  the  offer  of  a  free  grant 
of  lands,  subject  only  to  the  payment  of  a  tenth  as  rent- 
charge  to  the  state.  This  corner  was  the  weak  place  in 
the  Roman  border  on  the  north,  and  as  such  needed 
special  lines  for  its  defence  ;  Drusus  and  Tiberius  had 
long  ago  begun  to  raise  them,  and  they  were  now  push- 
ed on  with  energy,  and  continued  by  succeeding  rulers. 
The  "limes  Romanorum"  ran  along  for  many  a  mile  from 
one  great  river  to  the  other,  with  wall  and  dyke  and  pal- 
isade, and  forts  at  short  intervals  to  protect  the  works. 
Remains  of  them  are  still  left  here  and  there,  scarcely 
injured  by  the  wreck  of  ages,  and  are  called  in  the  pea- 
sants' patois  the  "  Devil's  Wall  "  or  "  Heathens'  Dyke," 
and  many  more  fantastic  names.  Ages  after  Trajan  some 
of  the  defences  of  this  country  still  bore  his  name  in  his- 
tory as  well  as  local  fancy,  and  witnessed  to  his  energy 
in  office;  and  modern  travellers  have  fancied,  though 
with  little  reason,  that  ruins  found  near  Mainz  belonged 
to  a  stone  bridge  built  by  him  across  the  Rhine,  on  the 
same  plan  as  the  famous  one  upon  the  Danube. 

His  work  in  Germany  was  done  so  thoroughly  before 
he  left  that  he  never  needed  to  return.  But  on  the 
_    , .  Danube  there  was  soon  a  pressing  call  for 

But  his  r 

presence  resolute  action,  and  the  Emperor  answered 

needed  on  it  without  delay.     The  people  scattered  on 

the  Danube.  both  sides  of  the  lower  Danube  appear  in 
history  under  many  names,  of  which  the  most  familiar 
are  Thracians,  Getas,  Dacians  ;  but  all  seemingly  were 
members  of  the  same  great  race.  Thev  had  come  often 
into  hostile  contact  with  the  powers  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
tdl  at  last,  under  Augustus,  all  the  southern  tribes  were 


9  7-i  1 7-  Trajan.  29 

brought  into  subjection,  and  their  land,  under  the  name 
of  Mcesia,  became  a  Roman  province.  Their  kinsmen 
on  the  north  retained  their   independence,    _ 

The  rise  of 

and  the  Dacian  peoples  had  been  lately  the  Dacian 
drawn  together  and  welded  into  a  formida-  "1S 
ble  nation  by  the  energy  of  Decebalus,  their  chieftain. 
Not  content  with  organizing  a  powerful  kingdom  within 
the  mountain  chains  of  Transylvania,  he  had  sallied  from 
his  natural  fastness  and  crossed  the  Danube  to  spread 
havoc  among  the  villages  of  Mcesia.  Domitian  had 
marched  in  person  to  the  rescue,  but  found  too  late  that 
he  had  neither  the  soldier's  daring  nor  the  general's  skill, 
and  was  glad  to  purchase  an  inglorious  peace  by  the 
rich  presents  that  the  Dacians  looked  upon  as  tribute. 
Artists  also  and  mechanics  were  demanded  to  spread  the 
arts  of  Roman  culture  in  the  north,  for  Decebalus  was  no 
mere  barbarian  of  vulgar  aim,  but  one  who  had  the  in- 
sight to  see  the  advantages  of  civilized  ways,  and  to 
meet  his  rivals  with  the  weapons  drawn  from  their  own 
armoury.  Emboldened  by  success  he  raised 
his  terms,  and  took  a   threatening   attitude    and  threats  of 

'  °  Decebalus. 

upon  the  Danube,  presuming  on  the  weak- 
ness of  the  timid  Domitian  and  the  aged  Nerva.  But 
Trajan  was  in  no  mood  to  brook  such  insults,  and  when 
asked  for  the  usual  presents  he  haughtily  replied  that  he 
at  least  had  not  been  conquered  ;  then  hearing  of  fresh 
insults,  and  of  intrigues  with  the  neighbouring  races,  and 
even  with  the  distant  Parthians,  he  resolved 
on  war,  and  set  out  himself  to  secure  the  safety    Trajan  de- 

'  J      dared  war 

and  avenge  the  honour  of  the  empire.  With    and  set  out. 
.  .  ,  .  .  .  TT     1  •  AD-  loI< 

him  went  his  young   kinsman  Hadrian    as 

aide-de-camp    (comes    expeditionis    Dacicas),   and    the 

trusted  Licinius    Sura   was    always  by  his   side    in    the 

campaign,  while   the  ablest  generals  of  the   age  were 


30  The  Age  of  the  Autonincs.  a.d. 

gathered  on  the  scene  of  action  to  win  fresh  laurels  in 
the  war. 

He  had  passed,  it  seems,  unchanged  through  the  lux- 
urious life  of  Rome,  and  kept  all  the  hardihood  of  his 
earlier  habits.  His  old  comrades  saw  him  march  bare- 
headed and  on  foot,  taking  his  full  share  of  danger  and 
discomfort,  joining  in  the  mock  fight  which  varied  the 
sameness  of  the  march,  or  ready  to  give  and  take  hard 
blows  without  thought  of  personal  dignity  or  safety.  So 
retentive  was  his  memory  that  he  learnt,  as  it  is  said,  the 
names  and  faces  even  of  the  common  soldiers  of  the 
legions,  could  speak  to  them  of  their  deeds  of  valour  or 
of  their  honourable  wounds,  and  make  each  feel  that  he 
was  singled  out  for  special  notice.  It  was,  they  saw, 
no  mere  holiday  campaign  such  as  Emperors  had  some- 
times come  from  Rome  to  witness,  with  its  parade  of  un- 
real victories  and  idle  triumphs,  but  the  stern  reality  of 
war  under  a  commander  trained  in  life-long  service, 
like  the  great  generals  of  earlier  days.  Full  of  reliance 
in  their  leader,  and  in  the  high  tone  of  discipline  which  he 
restored,  they  were  eager  to  begin  the  strife  and  looked 
forward  to  success  as  sure. 

For  details  of  the  progress  of  the  war  we  may  look  in 

vain  to  the  histories  of  ancient  writers.    The 

For  details  of     cnapters  0f  Dion  Cassius  which  treated  of 

the  war  we  l 

must  look  to      it  have  come  down  to  us  only  in   a  meagre 

mjiiumems 

mor.  than  to  summary.  Later  epitomists  compress  into  a 
writers.16"1  Page  tne  whole  story  of  the  reign.  Monu- 
mental evidence  indeed  gives  more  details. 
The  bridges,  fortresses,  and  road  works  of  Trajan 
stamped  themselves  in  local  names  upon  the  common 
language  of  the  country,  and  left  enduring  traces  which 
remain  even  to  this  day.  We  may  track  the  course  of 
the    invading   legions    by   *.he    inscriptions  graven    by 


.-  -   --- 


• 


97-H7-  Trajan.  31 

pious  fingers  to  the  memory  of  the  comrades  who  had 
fallen;  and  the  cunning  hands  of  artists  have  bodied 
forth  to  fancy  in  a  thousand  varied  forms  scene  after 
scene  in  the  progress  of  the  conquering  armies.  But 
even   with  such   help  we    can  draw  at   best 

r  I  he  course 

but  the  outline  of  the  campaigns,  and  can-       of  the 

.     _     .  .    .  ,~,  campaign. 

not  hope  for  any  definite  precision.  I  he 
forces  that  had  made  their  way  through  Pannonia  by 
different  routes,  were  first  assembled  probably  at  Seges- 
tica  (Sissek)  on  the  Save,  which  Strabo  speaks  of  as 
the  natural  starting  point  for  a  war  in  Dacia,  and  which 
had  long  before  been  strongly  fortified  for  such  a  purpose. 
Here  boats  could  be  drawn  together  and  sent  down  the 
stream  for  future  use,  while  on  the  road  along  the  river's 
banks,  at  which  the  legionaries  of  Tiberius  had  toiled 
already,  new  magazines  and  forts  were  formed  to  protect 
their  communications  in  the  rear,  and  letters  carved 
upon  the  rocks  near  Ogradina  tell  us  of  the  energy  of 
Trajan's  engineers.  Moving  steadily  to  the  eastward 
they  at  last  crossed  the  Danube  at  two  points  between 
Belgrade  and  Orsova,  probably  at  Viminacium  and 
Tierna,  at  each  of  which  a  bridge  of  boats  was  made 
where  the  stream  was  at  its  narrowest. 

With  one  half  of  the  army  the  Emperor  crossed  in 
person,  the  other  was  left  to  the  command  of  Lusius 
Quietus,  a  Moor,  the  most  tried  and  trusty  of  his  gene- 
rals. The  invaders  were  to  move  at  first  by  separate 
roads,  but  to  converge  at  the  entrance  of  the  single 
mountain  pass  which  led  to  the  stronghold  of  the 
Dacians.  The  enemy,  meantime,  had  made  no  effort  to 
molest  them  on  their  march,  or  to  bar  their  way  across 
the  river. 

Envoys  came,  indeed,  as  if  to  treat  for  peace;  but  it 
was  remarked  that  they  were  men  only  of  mean  rank,  who 


32  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

wore  long  hair  and   went   bareheaded,  and 

they  were  sent  away  unheeded.  Forged 
despatches,  too,  were  brought  as  if  from  neighbouring 
peoples  to  urge  him  to  make  peace  and  to  be  gone  ;  but 
Trajan,  suspecting  treachery,  was  resolute  and  wary, 
and  in  the  spring  pushed  steadily  forward  on  his  way- 
Ambassadors  arrived  once  more,  this  time  of  the  higher 
rank  that  gave  the  privilege  of  wearing  hats  upon  their 
heads,  like  the  Spanish  grandees  who  by  special  grace 
might  be  covered  in  the  presence  of  the  king.  Through 
them  Decebalus,  their  master,  sued  for  mercy,  and 
offered  to  submit  to  any  terms  that  the  ministers  of 
Trajan  might  impose.  It  Was,  however,  only  to  gain 
time,  for  he  would  not  meet  the  Roman  envoys,  but 
suddenly    appeared    in   arms,  and    springing   upon    the 

legions  on  their  march,  closed  with  them  at 
cfhTaasele         Tapae    in  a    desperate    engagement.     The 

combatants  were  fairly  matched,  and  fought 
on  with  a  desperate  valour,  for  each  knew  that  their 
sovereign  was  present  in  their  ranks.  The  Dacians 
at  length  were  routed,  but  the  victory  was  dearly  bought, 
for  the  battle-field  was  strewn  with  the  dying  and  the 
dead;  there  was  not  even  lint  enough  to  dress  the 
wounds,  and  the  Emperor  tore  his  own  clothes  to  pieces 
to  staunch  the  blood  of  the  men  who  lay  about  him. 
The  other  army  had  been  also  waylaid  upon  its  march, 
but  beating  its  assailants  back,  it  made  its  way  to  a  junc- 
tion   with    the  rest. 

They  had   been  moving  hitherto   since  they  left  the 

Danube  in  what  is  now  called  the  Austrian  Banat,  from 

,      ,  which  Transvlvania,  the  centre  of  the  old 

the  advance  J 

into  Transyl-     Dacian  kingdom,  is  parted  by  a  formidable 

barrier  of  mountains.  One  road  alone  passed 

through  a  narrow  rift  in  the  great  chain,  called  the  Iron 


97-H7-  Trajan.  33 

Gate,  either  from  the  strength  of  the  steep  defiles  or  from 
the  neighbouring  mines.  Through  these  the  Romans 
had  to  pass,  like  the  travellers  of  later  days.  A  less  de- 
termined leader  might  have  shrunk  from  the  hazardous 
enterprise  before  him  ;  but  Trajan  pushed  resolutely  on, 
seized  the  heights  with  his  light  troops,  and  by  dint  of 
hard  fighting  cleared  a  passage  through  the  mountains. 
Where  the  narrow  valley  widens  out  into  the  open 
country  in  the  Hatszeger  Thai,  the  camp  may  still  be 
seen  where  the  Romans  lay  for  a  while  entrenched  to 
rest  after  the  hardships  of  the  march  before 
they    joined   battle    with     Decebalus    once    and  R.oman 

J     J  victories 

more.  Sarmizegethusa  (Varhely),  the  strong- 
hold of  the  Dacian  chieftain,  was  now  threatened,  and  in 
its  defence  the  nation  made  its  last  decisive  stand. 
Once  more,  after  hard  fighting,  they  gave  way,  and  re- 
sistance now  seemed  hopeless.  The  spirit  of  their  king 
was  broken,  for  his  sister  in  a  strongly  guarded  fort  had 
fallen  into  the  invader's  power,  and  a  last  embassy  of 
notables  was  sent,  with  their  hands  tied  behind  their 
backs,  in  token  of  entire  submission.  Hard  terms  of 
peace  were  offered  and  accepted.  The  Dacian  was  to 
raze  his  strongholds  to  the  ground,  to  give  up  his  con- 
quests from  the  neighbouring  peoples,  and  to  send  back 
the  artists,  mechanics,  and  drill  sergeants  who  had  been 
enticed  across  the  border  to  teach  the  arts 

,  bring  the  first 

f  peace  and  war.     He  consented  even  to    wartoaclose. 
send  his  deputies  to  beg  the  Roman  senate    A'  D-  io2' 
to  ratify  the  treaty  now  agreed  on,  and  stooped  so  far  as 
to  come  himself  to  Trajan's  presence,  to  do  homage  to 
his  conqueror. 

The  war  had  spread  over  two  years  already,  and  it 
was  hazardous  for  the  emperor  to  linger  so  far  and  so 
long  away  from  Rome.     But  he  could  not  well  have 


34  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

hoped  that  the  struggle  was  quite  ended.      Decebalus 

had  been  humbled  but  not  crushed ;  his  own  kingdom 

of  Transylvania  had  not  been   overrun,  and  his  people 

were  brave  and  loyal  still.     He  might  fairly  count  on  the 

alliance  of  his   neighbours  on  the  east,  and  even  of  the 

Parthians,  who  were  brought  together  by  their  jealousy 

of  Rome.     Soon  it  was   heard   that   he  was    stirring   to 

avenge   his   recent   losses.     The  dismantled   fortresses 

were   rebuilt  and   garrisoned  afresh;  lukewarm   friends 

or  deserters  from  his  cause  were  made  to  feel  his  power, 

and  all  his  skill  in  diplomacy  was  strained  to  organize  a 

_      ,  league  of  warlike   nations,  and  dispose    of 

But  the  f  »  r 

peace  did  not      their  forces  in  the  field.     Then  Trajan  knew 

last  lone;,  and       ,  ,     ,    .  .  . ..  .  .  . 

war  broke  he  must  delay  no  longer  if  he  would  not  see 
out  again.         ^e  work  0f  years   crumble    into  pieces  ;  so 

after  a  breathing  space  of  a  few  months  he  set  out  once 
more  for  the  old  scene  of  action,  resolved  to  turn  Dacia 
at  last  into  a  tributary  province. 

He  had  first  to  meet  treachery  before  open  force  was 
tried.  Assassins  were  sent  to  take  his  life  in  Mcesia 
and  when  the  murderous  project  failed,  Longinus,  the 
commander  of  a  contingent,  was  decoyed  under  the 
plea  of  a  conference  with  the  Dacian  chief,  who  seized 
and  held  him  captive  with  the  threat  that  he  would  only 
give  him  back  alive  if  the  legions  were  withdrawn  and 
peace  secured.  The  high-souled  Roman  had  no  wish  to 
buy  his  safety  with  his  country's  loss  ;  he  would  not  even 
expose  his  sovereign  to  the  cruel  embarrassment  of 
choice,  but  hastened  to  meet  the  inevitable 
Trajan  death.    It  was  left  to  Trajan  to  avenge  him. 

made  great  •>  ° 

preparations       His  plan    of  the  campaign  was  soon   ma- 

and  built  a 

bridge  of  tured,  and  the  needful  preparations   set  on 

thTrjanube.       foot.     Of  these  the  greatest  was  the  bridge 

across    the    Danube.       Not    content    with 


97-117-  Trajan.  35 

having  one  or  more  of  boats,  such  as  was  soon  made  in 
the  last  war,  he  resolved  to  build  upon  a  grander 
scale  a  bridge  of  stone,  or  possibly  to  finish  one  which 
had  been  begun  already  in  the  course  of  the  first  war, 
that  so  he  might  be  secured  in  his  return  against  frost  or 
a  sudden  blow,  Dion  Cassius,  who  as  governor  of  Pan- 
nonia  in  later  years  could  see  so  much  of  the  work  as 
time  had  spared,  writes  strongly  in  the  expression  of  his 
wonder,  and  regards  it  as  the  greatest  of  the  Emperor's 
creations.  Each,  he  says,  of  the  twenty  piers  on  which 
the  arches  rested  was  60  feet  in  breadth  and  150  high, 
without  taking  count  of  the  foundations.  It  was  in  ruins 
in  his  time  ;  but  the  mighty  piers  were  standing  to  show 
the  greatness  of  Trajan's  aims  and  the  skill  of  his  engi- 
neer Apollodorus.  Between  the  Wallachian  Turn- 
Severin  near  the  town  of  Czernetz  and  the  Servian  Cla- 
dova,  remains  may  still  be  seen  of  what  was  probably 
once  the  famous  bridge.  From  this  point  along  the 
right  bank  of  the  river  runs  an  old  Roman  road  which 
the  Wallachs  still  call  Trajan's  highway,  and  passing 
through  a  mountain  gorge  it  may  be  traced  as  far  as 
Hermannstadt.     Where  it  entered  the  Car-    _,    ,    . 

1  he  legions 

pathians  it  was  fortified   by  works  of  which    converged  on 

*.r_       <<  t>     j     t>  >»  -..  _       «.       tX.        Transylvania 

the  "Red   Tower-    gives  its   name  to  the    by  various 
whole  pass,  while  "Trajan's  Gate  "  is  still   Passes 
standing    in    memory  of  his    invading  armv.     But   the 
work  was  to  be  done  thoroughly  this  time,  and  the  ene- 
my to  be  taken  on  all  sides.     The    advan- 
cing legions  tramped  along  every  great  road 
which  from  the   south  or  west   converged    on   the  little 
Dacian  kingdom  that  lay  entrenched  within  its  fence  of 
mountains.     Through   the    Iron    Gates    and  the  Volcan 
Pass  and  the  gorge  of  the  Red  Tower  they  stormed  the 
defences  raised  to  bar  their  way,  and  after  many  a  hard 


$6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

struggle  swept  their  enemies  before  them  by  the  sheer 
weight  of  steady  discipline,  till  at  last  they  stood  in  the 
heart  of  the  Dacian  kingdom. 

The  league  on  which  Decebalus  had  counted  came  to 

nothing :  old    adherents    slunk    away,    and    looked-for 

.    .     allies  had  stood  aloof,  so  that  he  was  left  to 

and  after  obsti- 
nate fightiug       fight  on  unaided  to  the  bitter  end.     Tracked 

Dacian  power,  like  a  wild  beast  from  lair  to  lair,  he  saw 
a.d.  106.  one  after  another  of  his  castles  wrested  from 

him,  and  only  when  his  chief  stronghold  could  hold  out  no 
longer,  did  he  close  the  struggle  by  a  voluntary  death. 

Many  of  his  loyal  followers  were  faithful  to  him  to  the 
last,  and  setting  fire  to  their  homes  passed  from  hand  to 
hand  the  poisoned  cup,  unwilling  to  survive  the  freedom 
of  the  country  which  they  loved. 

When  the  last  city  had  been  stormed,  the  treasures  of 
the  fallen  Dacian,  in  spite  of  his  precautions,  passed  in- 
to the  victor's  hands.  In  vain  had  he  turned  aside  the 
stream  Sargetia  (Istrig)  from  its  bed,  and  had  a  secret 
chamber  for  his  hoards  built  in  the  dry  channel  by  his 
prisoners  of  war.  In  vain  had  he,  so  ran  the  story,  re- 
stored the  current  to  its  former  bed,  and  butchered  the 
captives  when  their  work  was  done.  One  friend  and 
confidant  alone  was  left  alive,  but  he  was  languishing  in 
Roman  bonds,  and  told  the  story  to  buy  life  or  favour. 

The  war  was  over ;  the  kingdom  of  Dacia  had  ceased 
to  be,  and  it  remained  only  to  organize  the  conquest. 
No  time  was  lost  in  completing  and  extending  the  great 
roads  which  led  from  the  points  where  Trajan's  bridges 
„,  ,  had  been  built.     Strong    works  were   raised 

To  complete 

the  conquest  for  their  defence  as  they  entered  the  moun- 
wasCcoion-y  tain  passes,  and  fortresses  to  command  their 
ised  an.j  outlets  from  the  highlands,  while  in  the  cen- 

gamsor.ed,  _     *• 

tral  spots  on  which  the  highways  converged. 


97-H7-  Trajan.  37 

new  towns  rose  apace  with  Romanized  names  and 
charters  of  Italian  rights.  Many  of  the  old  inhabitants 
who  had  escaped  the  horrors  of  the  war  had  left  their 
ruined  homesteads,  and  bidding  farewell  for  ever  to 
their  country,  had  sought  a  shelter  among  the  kindred 
races  to  the  east ;  but  their  place  was  taken  by  the  vet- 
erans, who  were  rewarded  for  their  hardihood  with  pen- 
sions and  with  land,  while  yet  further  to  make  good  the 
waste  of  life  throughout  the  ravaged  country,  colonists 
came  streaming  at  the  Emperor's  call  from  all  the  border 
provinces,  which  were  still  full  of  hardy  peasants  only 
latelv  brought  within  the  range  of  Roman  influence,  but 
now  ready  in  their  turn  to  be  the  pioneers  of  civilized 
progress  in  the  far-off  Carpathian  valleys.  After  them, 
or  even  with  the  armies,  went  the  engineers,  the  archi- 
tects, the  artists  of  the  older  culture.  Temples  and  baths, 
aqueducts  and  theatres  rose  speedily  among  the  town- 
ships, and  monuments  of  every  kind  are  strewn  over  the 
land,  so  that  few  regions  have  had  more  to  tell  the  anti- 
quarian than  this  last  corner  in  the  Roman  empire. 
Strange  to  say,  even  the  ancestral  faith  of  the  conquered 
Dacians  was  lost  to  view,  and  while  the  inscriptions 
found  among  their  ruins  bear  witness  to  the  exotic  rites 
of  eastern  deities  which  now  took  root  among  them, 
there  are  no  tokens  seemingly  of  the  old  national  religion. 
Nor  are  there  wanting  still  more  enduring  traces  of  the 
conquest  to  show  how  thoroughly  the  work  was  done. 
Though  soon  exposed  to  the  pressure  of  invading  races 
in  the  gradual  disruption  of  the  Roman  and  the  ,an. 
world,  and  torn  away  completelv    from  the    ^ieoC  old 

,       _  '  J  Rome  survives 

rest  before  two  centuries  had  passed,  though    in  -he  Waii- 

1  1         .,,  ■,  i-1-.-i  ,  achian  or  Rou« 

scourged    and    pillaged    ruthlessly    by  the    manianto' 
Goths    and  Huns,  the    Slavs  and    Mongols,    fejTwas 
who  swept  the  land   by  turns  and  drove  its    her  influence. 


38  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ad. 

people  to  their  mountain  homes,  it  still  clung  to  the 
memory  of  Trajan,  and  gave  his  name  to  many  a  mon- 
ument of  force  and  greatness,  while  the  language  of  old 
Rome  planted  by  his  colonists  survived  the  rude  shock 
of  barbarous  war  and  the  slow  process  of  decay,  and  as 
spoken  by  the  mouths  of  the  Roumans  and  the  Wallachs 
of  the  Danube  still  proves  its  undoubted  sisterhood 
with  the  French  or  the  Italian  of  our  day. 

To    commemorate  the   glory   of  successes   which  had 

given  to  the  empire  a  province  of  1,000  miles  in  circuit, 

a  monument  at  Rome  seemed  needed  on  a 

rhemonu-  scale  of  corresponding  grandeur.  To  find 
mdit  ot  the  L  &    ° 

Dacian  r^m  for  it  a  space  was  cleared  on  the  high 

victory  ii. 

irajan's  ridge  which  ran  between  the  Capitoline  and 

a.™"^.  *ne  Quirinal  hills.     Within  this  space  a  new 

forum  was  laid  out,  and  the  skill  of  Apoll- 
odorus,  the  great  designer  of  the  age,  was  tasked 
to  adorn  it  worthily.  A.t  the  entrance  rose  the  triumphal 
arch,  of  which  some  of  the  statuary  and  bas-reliefs  may 
still  be  seen  in  the  arch  of  Corfstantine,  although  disfig- 
ured by  the  tasteless  additions  of  a  latter  age.  Opposite 
was  built  the  great  basilica,  one  of  the  covered  colonnades 
which  served  then  for  an  exchange  and  law-court,  and  of 
which  the  name  was  borrowed  from  the  portico  at  Athens, 
while  the  form  lasted  on  to  set  the  type  of  the  early  Chris- 
tian churches.  In  the  centre  of  the  forum,  as  in  the  place 
of  honour,  was  a  statue  of  the  Emperor  on  horseback. 
All  around  in  every  corner  were  statues  and  warlike  em- 
blems of  the  conquest,  to  which  the  later  emperors  added 
in  their  turn,  till  art  sunk  under  Constantine  too  low  to 
do  more  than  spoil  the  ornaments  which  it  borrowed. 
Close  by  was  the  great  library,  rich  above  all  others  in 
statute  law  and  jurisprudence,  and  graced  with  the  busts 
of  all  the  undying  dead  in  art  and  literature  and  science. 


97—117-  Trajan.  39 

Far  above  all  towered  Trajan's  famous  column,  the 
height  of  which,  128  feet  in  all,  marked  the  quantity  of 
earth  which  had  been  cleared  away  below 
the  level  of  the  hill  in  the  place  of  which  the  phal  column, 
forum  stood.  Twenty-three  blocks  of  mar-  KX>'  II3' 
ble  only  are  piled  upon  each  other  to  make  up  the  col- 
umn's shaft,  round  which  winds  in  spiral  form  the  long 
series  of  sculptured  groups,  which  give  us  at  once  a  live- 
ly portraiture  of  the  details  of  Roman  warfare  and  all 
the  special  incidents  of  the  Dacian  campaigns.  Though 
we  have  often  little  clue  to  time  or  place  or  actual  cir- 
cumstance, still  we  can  follow  from  the  scenes  before  us 
the  invading  army  on  the  march,  see  them  cross  each 
river  on  their  bridge  of  boats,  force  their  way  through 
rock  and  forest,  storm  and  burn  the  strongholds  of  the 
enemy,  and  bring  the  spoils  of  war  to  grace  the  triumph 
of  their  leader.  We  can  distinguish  the  trousered  Da- 
cians  with  their  belted  tunics,  skirmishing  outside  their 
quarters,  over  which  flies  the  national  symbol  of  the  dra- 
gon, while  the  stockades  are  decked  with  the  ghastly 
skulls  torn  from  their  fallen  enemies.  Their  ferocity  is 
pictured  to  our  fancy  in  the  scene  where  the  Roman 
corpses  are  mangled  on  their  chariot  wheels,  or  where 
their  women  gather  round  the  captive  legionary  and 
hold  the  lighted  torches  to  his  limbs.  We  see  them 
sue  for  pardon  with  their  outstretched  hands,  or  wend 
their  way  in  sad  procession  from  their  homes,  with 
wives  and  children,  flocks  and  herds,  turning  their 
backs  upon  their  devastated  country,  or  when  driven 
like  wild  beasts  to  bay,  crowd  round  the  poisoned  goblet 
and  roll  in  the  agonies  of  death  upon  the  ground. 

This  monument,  the  crowning  glory  of  the  splendid 
forum,  is  left  to  us  well  nigh  unscathed  by  the  ravages 
of    time,    save    that    the  gilding  and  the   colours  have 


4o  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d 

faded    almost   wholly    from    the   sculpture. 
cohimnls  anc^  that  Trajan's  statue  which   once  took 

left  of  the  jts   stand   by    natural   right    upon    the    too 

scene  on  J  °  r  " 

which  Con-       has   been  replaced  by  that  of  the  Apostle 

stantius  .  . 

looked  with        Paul.     Little  remains  to  us  of  all  the  rest, 

admiration.  i  •      i  i_  r  i  i 

Ammian.  but  we  may  judge  somewhat  of  our  loss  by 

Marceil.  fae  terms  in  which  an  old  historian  describes 

XVI.  IO. 

the  scene  as  it  first  met  the  eyes  of  the 
Emperor  Constantius  at  his  entry  into  Rome  two  centu- 
ries later.  He  gazed  with  wonder,  we  are  told,  at  the 
historic  glories  of  the  ancient  city,  but  when  he  came  to 
Trajan's  forum  he  stood  speechless  for  awhile  with 
admiration  at  a  work  which  seemed  to  rise  far  above 
the  power  of  words  to  paint  or  the  art  of  later  days  to 
copy.  In  despair  of  doing  anything  so  great  as  what  he 
looked  on,  he  said  at  last  that  he  would  rest  content 
with  having  a  horse  made  to  match  the  one  which 
carried  Trajan.  But  Hormisdas,  a  Persian  noble  who 
was  standing  at  his  side,  said,  "  It  would  be  well  to  build 
the  stable  first,  for  your  horse  should  be  lodged  as 
royally  as  the  one  which  we  admire.'' 

While  the  conquering  eagles  were  thus 
ofhArab?aUeSt     borne  over  new  lands  in  the  far  north,  the 

frontier  line  was  also  carried  forward  on  the 
south.  Cornelius  Palma,  the  regent  of  Syria  marched 
over  the  sandy  deserts  of  Arabia,  which  had  never 
seen  the  arms  of  Rome  since  drought  and  pestilence 
beat  back  the  soldiers  of  Augustus.     The  country  of  the 

Idumaean  Petra  was  subdued,  and  imperial 
jljb.  105  to         coins    of    this    period    pourtray    Arabia    in 

woman's  form  offering  to  Trajan  incense 
and  perfumes  in  token  of  submission,  while  the  fame 
of  these  successes  brought  embassies  to  sue  for  peace 
from  countries  hitherto  unknown. 


97-117,  Trajan.  41 

The  triumph  that  followed  all  these  victories  was  one 
of  extraordinary  splendour  and  ferocity.  For  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  days  the  long  round  of  bloody  specta- 
cles went  on  :  wild  beasts  of  every  kind  died  by  thousands 
in  the  circus,  and  the  prisoners  of  war  fenced  with  each 
other  in  theirbloody  sport  till  the  idle  populace  was  grati- 
fied and  sated  by  the  offering  of  some  ten  thousand  lives. 

And  now  for  years  Trajan  and  the  world  had  peace, 
broken  only  perhaps  by  a  short  campaign  against  the 
Parthians,  to  which  some. questionable  evidence  of  med- 
als and  church  writers  seems  to  point,  although  secular 
history  is  wholly  silent  on  the  subject. 

There  was  enough  indeed  to  occupy  his  thoughts 
meantime.  The  cares  of  office  on  so  vast  a  scale,  the 
oversight  of  so  much  ministerial  work,  the  grandiose 
constructions  in  the  capital  and  throughout  Italy,  the 
plans  tor  usefulness  and  charity  described  already, 
formed  labour  enough  for  any  single  mind.  There  was 
no  fear  therefore  that  his  powers  should  rust  away  from 
inaction  in  a  time  of  peace.  But  there  might  possibly  be 
dangers  of  another  sort.  To  this  period  belong  seem- 
ingly the  rumours  of  traitorous  designs  and  plots  against 
his  life,  to  which  he  gave  indeed  no  open  credence, 
but  loftily  professed  his  disregard,  which  may,  however, 
have  ruffled  the  calm  even  of  his  resolute  nature, 
and  sickened  him  of  longer  stay  at  Rome.  For  there 
was  something  feverish  in  the  life  of  the  great  city  ;  the 
air  was  charged  with  thunder  clouds  which  rpight  burst  at 
any  moment.  Few  of  the  rulers  who  had  livjed  before  him 
but  had  cause  to  fear  the  fickle  passions  of  the  populace  or 
guards,  or  the  jealousy  of  unscrupulous  intriguers. 

Once  more  therefore  he  resolved  on  war,  in  part  per- 
haps from  tne  feelings  of  disquietude  at  home,  in  part  it 
may  be  from  the  overweening  sense  of  absolute  power, 


42  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a  d. 

and  the  restlessness  of  the  great  conqueror,  spurred  on 
by  his  ambition  for  more  glory 

There    was    one   rival  only  of  historic  name,  the  Par- 
thian empire  of  the  east,  and  with  that  it  was  not  hard 
to  pick  a  quarrel.     Its  sovereign  Chosroes 
against^"0    had   lately    claimed   to  treat  Armenia,  as  a 
Parthia.  dependent  fief,  and  had  set  a  nephew  of  his 

A.D.  173.  r  r 

own  upon  the  throne,  though  the  Romans 
had  long  looked  upon  it  as  a  vassal  kingdom,  and  Nero 
as  a  suzerain  had  set  the  crown  upon  its  prince's  head. 
No  time  was  lost  in  resenting  the  affront,  and  instant  war 
was  threatened  if  the  intruder  did  not  withdraw  his  forces 
from  Armenia,  and  leave  the  new-made  monarch  to  his 
fate.  The  pretext  was  caught  at  the  more  gladly,  as 
on  this  side  only  of  the  empire  was  the  frontier  line 
still  undecided,  and  an  organized  power  was  left  in  arms 
to  menace  the  boundaries  of  Rome. 

Once  more  the  note  of  preparation  sounded  for  the 
war,  the  arsenals  were  all  astir,  and  the  tramp  of  the  ad- 
vancing legions  was  heard  along  the  highways  of  the 
east.  Before  long  the  Emperor  himself  was  on  his  way 
to  take  the  field  in  person  with  his  troops  ;  but  at  Athens 
where  he  halted  for  a  time,  he  was  met  by  the  am- 
bassadors who  came  to  sue  for  peace  and  offer  presents, 
and  beg  him  in  their  master's  name  to  accept  the  hom- 
age of  another  kinsman  in  place  of  the  one  who  had 
already  forfeited  the  kingdom  which  was  given  him. 
For  the  Parthians  were  no  longer  in  the  heyday  of  their 
national  vigour,  as  when  they  shattered  the  hosts  of 
Crassus  on  the  fatal  field  of  Carrhae,  or  swept  almost 
without  a  check  through  western  Asia  and  drove  M. 
Antonius  back  from  a  fruitless  and  inglorious  campaign. 
Three  centuries  ago  they  had  made  themselves  a  name 
in  history  by  humbling  the  dynasty  of  Syria ;  the  energy 


97_II7-  Trajan.  43 

of  conquest  had  carried  them  from  their  highland  homes 
and  sent  the  thrones  of  Asia  toppling  down 
before   them,    till   all    from    the    Euphrates    ^r°ngth  was 
to    the    Oxus  and    Hydaspes    owned    their    *hen  In  lts 

J  r  decay, 

sway  ;  but  now  the  tide  had  spent  its  force 
and  the  great  empire  was  slowly  sinking  to  decay. 
Like  the  Turks  of  later  days  they  had  no  genius  to 
organize  or  to  create,  but  were  at  bebt  an  aristocracy  of 
warlike  clans,  lording  it  over  subject  peoples,  full  of 
their  pride  of  race  and  barbarous  disdain  of  all  the  arts 
of  civilized  progress,  encamped  awhile  among  the  great 
historic  cities  of  the  past,  but  only  to  waste  and  to  de- 
stroy. The  currents  of  the  national  lifeblood  now  flowed 
feebly  ;  the  family  feuds  of  the  Arsacidse,  the  ruling 
line,  threatened  to  distract  their  forces,  and  they  could 
scarcely  make  good  with  the  sword  their  right  to  what 
the  sword  alone  had  won. 

Trajan  knew  possibly  something  of  their  weakness, 
or  expressed  only  the  self-reliance  of  his  own  strong 
will,  when  he  answered  the  envoys  in  a  haughty  strain, 
telling  them  that  friends  were  secured  by  deeds  and  not 
by  fair  words,  and  that  he  would  take  such  action  as 
seemed  good  when  he  arrived  upon  the  scene.  From 
Athens  he  went  forward  on  his  way  to  the  fortress  of 
Seleucia,  the    key  of    Syria,  proud    of  the    ^    . 

Tr3.13.ri  cirri vcs 

memory  of  its  famous  siege,  and  of  the  at  Amioch, 
gift  of  Roman  freedom  won  by  its  stout  de-  Jan'  A"D*  II4' 
fence  against  Tigranes.  ^FKence  he  marched  to  the 
neighbouring  Antioch^nrwhose  crowded  streets  the  so- 
cial currents  of  tljeiiast  and  West  were  blended,  the 
city  where  the^name  of  Christian  was  first  heard,  but 
where  alsp^the  cypress  groves  of  Daphne  were  the 
haunts /df  infamous  debauchery  in  religion's  name. 
Thicker  came  ambassadors  to  ask  for  peace ;  the  satraps 


44  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  A.D, 

and  petty  chieftains  met  him   on   his  way,  and   swore 

fealty  to  their  lord  and  master. 

He  passed  on  to  the  Euphrates,  and  no  one  appeared 

in  arms  to  bar  his  road.     The  new  Arsacid  in  Armenia, 

,  so  lately  seated  on  the  throne,  had  sent  al- 

and marcnes 

through  ready  more  than  once  to  Trajan.     But  his 

first  letter  was  written  in  lofty  style  as  to  a 
brother  king,  and  was  therefore  left  without  an  answer; 
the  second  struck  a  lower  note,  and  offered  to  do  homasrd 
through  the  governor  of  a  neighbouring  province.  Even 
this  the  Emperor  scarcely  deigned  to  notice,  would  not 
even  for  a  time  displace  the  official  from  his  post,  but 
merely  sent  the  governor's  son  to  bear  this  answer. 

Before  long  the  legions  in  their  march  had  crossed 

the    confines    of   Armenia;    the    towns   by  which   they 

passed  were  occupied  without  a  blow,  and  the  princely 

Parthamasiris  was  summoned  to  his  master's  presence 

in  the  heart  of  a  countrv  that  was  lately  ah 

whose  king  ■*  J 

Parthamasiris,  his  own.     There  on  a  lofty  seat  sat  Traja™ 

came  to  the  ,  ,  ...'-.  , 

camp  to  do  on  the  earth-works  raised  for  the  entrench- 
homage ;  ments  of  the  camp,  while  the  legions  stood 

around  as  on  parade.  The  prince  bowed  low  before  thb 
throne,  and  laid  his  diadem  before  the  Emperor's  feet, 
then  waited  silently  in  hope  to  see  it  replaced  with 
graceful  courtesy  upon  his  head.  But  he  hoped  and 
waited  all  in  vain;  the  soldiers  who  stood  near  raised 
a  shout  of  triumph  at  his  act  of  self-abasement,  and 
startled  at  the  din  he  turned  as  if  in  act  to  fly,  but  only 
to  find  himself  girt  in  by  armed  battalions,  from  whuni 
escape  seemed  hopeless.  Regaining  self-control  he 
begged  to  be  received  in  private  interview;  but  baffled 
of  his  hopes,  he  turned  at  last  with  anger  and  despiir  to 
quit  the  camp.  Before  he  had  gone  far  he  was  recalled, 
brought  once  more  before  the  throne,  and   bidden   to 


97-JI7-  Trajan.  45 

make  his  suit  in  the  hearing  of  the  legions.  Then  at 
last  the  chieftain's  pride  took  fire,  and  he  gave  his  in- 
dignation vent.      He  came,  he  said,  not  as    . 

but  was  de- 

a  conquered  foeman  or  an  humble  vassal,    posed,  and 

br  1   •       r  1      •  .  .1  •  slain  when  he 

ut  of  his  tree  cnoice  to  court  the  majesty    attempted  to 

of  Rome.     He  had  laid  his  crown  down  as    resist- 

a  token  of  respect,  but  looked  to  have  his  kingdom  given 

him  again,  as  to  Tiridates  in  like  case  from  Nero's  hands. 

The  Emperor's  reply  was  stern  and  brief.    Armenia  was 

to  be  henceforth  a  Roman  province,  and  its  line  of  kings 

•was  closed  ;   but  for  the  rest  the  ex-monarch   and  his 

followers  might  go  safely  where  they  pleased.     But  the 

Armenian    prince  was   too  high-spirited  to 

yield  without  a  struggle;  he  flew  to  arms,  it      £\Fron,t?.' 

J  00       »  .  »  Pnnc.   Hist. 

seems,  and  was  slain  soon  after  at  a  word 

from  Trajan,  who  had  not  generosity  enough  to  spare 

the  rival  whom  he  had  humbled. 

Then  a  panic  spread  through  all  the  courts  of  Asia. 
From  far-off  regions,  little  known  before,  came  humble 
offers  of  submission  to  the  invader  who  was  so  master- 
ful and  stern  ;  and  wary  intriguers,  who  had  kept  away 
before,  found  to  their  dismay  that  they  could 
not  longer  play  upon  him  with  ambiguous  terroTand 
words.      The    distant    chiefs    indeed   were     submission 

in  the 

allowed   to   hold    their  own,  but  in  all  the     neighbouring 

,  ,  ...  princes, 

country  between  the  two  great  rivers  in  the 

track  of  the  advancing  army,  the  native    prijiees  were 

deposed  and  Roman  governors  took  tjieir'place. 

Meantime  the  postal  service^haa  been  organized  with 

special  care.      On  the  gfeat  roads   that   led    to    Rc-me 

carriages  and  relays  of  horses  conveyed  the  couriers  with 

their  state  despatches ;    and  the  great  city  traced  from 

week  to  week  the  course  of  the  campaign  through  scenes 

beyond  the  range  of  their  experience  or  fancy,  listening 


46  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

with  a  lively  wonder  to  the  lengthening  tale  of  bloodless 
conquests.  The  Senate  vainly  tried  to  find  a  list  of  fit- 
ting honours  for  their  prince;  they  voted  the 
triumph  at  solemn  services  and  days  of  thanksgiving, 
Romo'  and  called  him  Parthicus  as  they  had  styled 

him  Dacius  after  the  last  war,  but  above  all  other  titles  of 
their  choice  he  prided  himself  the  most  on  that  of 
Optimus  (the  Best),  linked  as  it  was  in  popular  fancy 
with  the  name  of  Jupiter,  mightiest  of  the  gods  of  Rome, 
and  pointing  as  he  seemed  to  think  more  to  the  graces 
of  his  character  than  to  the  glories  of  his  arms. 

But  the  gladness  of  the  general  triumph,  both  at  home 

and  at  the  seat  of  war,  was  rudely  broken  by  the  tidings 

of  a  great  disaster.     While  the  soldiers  were 

But  the  .  .  ,-ii  i 

great  earth-  resting  from  their  labours  in  their  winter 
Ami!,chat  quarters,  an  earthquake  of  appalling  force 

spread  ruin       shook    many    of    the   towns   of   Asia,    and 

and   dismay  " 

among  Tra-  marked  its  power  at  Antioch  by  features  of 
Dec!  13,  especial   horror.     The  fair  city  was  at   all 

J.'^alaias.  times  a  teeming  hive  of  population  ;  mer- 
chants and  mariners  of  every  land  were 
crowded  in  its  port  on  the  Orontes  ;  art  and  luxury  and 
learning  drew  the  votaries  of  fashion  to  the  great  Broad- 
way of  Epiphanes  which  ran  its  level  course  four  miles 
in  length,  with  spacious  colonnades  on  either  side.  But 
at  this  time  especially  the  Emperor's  presence  brought 
a  more  than  usual  concourse  thither.  Soldiers  and 
courtiers,  litigants  and  senators,  sightseers  and  traders 
jostled  each  other  in  the  streets  and  mingled  the 
languages  of  East  and  West.  The  more  fatal  therefore 
was  the  sudden  blow  which  carried  sorrow  and  bereave- 
ment to  men's  homes  in  every  land.  We  need  not 
dwell  upon  the  too  familiar  features  of  all  the  great 
earthquakes  that  we  hear  of.     Here,  too,  we  read  of  the 


97_II7-  Trajan.  47 

mysterious  rumblings  underground,  of  the  heaving  and 
the  rocking  earth,  of  the  houses  crashing  into  ruins  and 
burying  their  inmates  in  the  wreck,  of  the  few  survivors 
disinterred  at  last  from  what  might  have  been  their 
tomb.  It  adds  little  to  the  genuine  horrors  of  the  scene 
to  be  told  in  the  fanciful  language  of  a  later  writer  of  the 
babe  found  sucking  at  the  breast  of  the  mother  who  was 
cold  and  dead,  or  of  the  unknown  visitor  of  unearthly 
stature  who  beckoned  the  Emperor  from  th.e  place  of 
danger  to  the  open  ground  within  the  circus,  where  he 
stayed  for  days  till  the  earthquake  passed  away. 

But  the  thoughts  of  the  soldiers  were  soon  called  away 
from  these  memories  of  gloom  and  desolation.  In  early 
spring  once  more  the  Emperor  took  the  field 

.....         c  He  took  the 

with  overwhelming  forces.     It  was  no  easy       field  again, 
task,  indeed,  to  cross  the  rapid  current  of      the  Tigris 
the  Tigris  in  the  face  of  an  enemy  drawn  up       A-D-  II6, 
in  arms  upon  the  bank,  and  in  a  country  where  no  tim- 
ber grew  for  rafts.     But  through  the  winter  months  the 
highland  forests  had  been  felled  far  up  the  river  ;  ship- 
builders had  been  busy  with  their  work,  and  boats  w-ere 
brought  in  pieces  to  the  water's  edge,  where  they  were 
joined  together  and  floated  down  the  stream  to  the  point 
chosen  for  the  passage.     Then  the  flotillas  suddenly  ap- 
peared in  swarms  before  the  eyes  of  the  startled  natives, 
and  manned  by  overpowering  numbers,  pushed  rapidly 
across  the  river,  and  dislodged  the  thin  lines 

.  carried 

that  stood  to  bar  the  way.     The  Parthians,  all  before 

struck  with  panic  at  their  resolute  advance 
or  distracted  by   civil   feuds,  were    swept    away  before 
them,  and  scarcely  fronted  them  again  that  year  to  strike 
a  blow  for  independence. 

Onward  the  legions  tramped  in  steady  progress,  but 
their  march  was  a  triumphal  pageant.     They  neared  the 


48  The  Age  of  the  Anto?iines.  A.D. 

ruins  of  Nineveh,  capital  of  the  Assyria  of  ancient  story; 
passed  by  the  battle-field  of  Arbela,  where  the  pha- 
lanx of  Alexander  routed  the  multitudinous  hosts  of  Per- 
sia :  at  Babylon  they  saw  the  wonders  done  of  old  by 
the  builders  and  engineers  of  early  despots.  Ctesiphon, 
with  the  winter  palace  of  the  Parthian  king,  fell  into 
their  hands,  with  the  neighbouring  Seleucia,  that  still  re- 
tained the  semblance  of  a  shadowy  republic,  though  a 
royal  fortress  towered  above  it.  Not  content  with  sweep- 
ing all  before  them  in  Assyria,  they  pushed  onward  yet 
to  Susa,  the  old  residence  of  Persian  monarchs.  The 
daughter  of  the  Parthian  king  became  a  captive  ;  his 
throne  of  beaten  gold  was  sent  as  a  trophy  to  the  Roman 
Senate,  which  heard  the  exciting  tidings  that  one  after 
another  the  great  cities  of  historic  fame  had  passed 
under  the  Emperor's  sway,  who  was  following  in  the 
steps  of  Alexander  and  pining  for  more  worlds  to  con- 
quer. Indeed,  old  as  he  was,  he  seemed 
and  pushed       possessed   with  the   daring  of  adventurous 

on  as  lar  as  *  ° 

the  Persian  youth.  Taking  ship,  we  read,  on  the  Eu- 
phrates, he  let  the  current  bear  him  to  its 
mouth,  and  there  upon  the  shores  of  ocean  saw  the  mer- 
chant-boats set  sail  for  India,  the  land  of  fable  and  ro- 
mance, and  dreamed  of  enterprises  still  to  come  in 
countries  where  the  Roman  eagles  were  unknown. 

But  his  career  of  triumph  was  now  closed,  and  the 
few  months  of  life  which  still  were  left- to  him  were  cloud- 
ed with  the  gloom  of  failure   and  disaster.      While  he 
was  roaming  as  a  knight-errant  in  quest  of  adventures 
far  away,  the  conquered  countries  were  in 

But   the  ■"  i,,  .  . 

lately  con-        arms  once  more.     The  cities  of  Assyria  rose 
countries  against  his  garrisons  as  soon  as  the  spell  of 

rose  in  his         his  name  and  presence  was  removed  ;  Ara- 
bia and  Edessa  flung  off  their  allegiance  ; 


97~ii7'  Trajan.  49 

and  the  Jews  of  Cyrenaica,  Egypt  and  Cyprus  sprung  in 
blind  fury  at  their  Roman  masters,  as  if  to  avenge  the 
cruelties  practised  long  ago  in  Palestine  by  Titus.  This 
fieice  explosion  of  fanatic  zeal  from  a  people  girt  about  by 
alien  races  was  hopeless,  of  course,  and  sternly  repressed 
with  fire  and  sword.  To  secure  his  hold  on  Parthia  the 
Emperor  set  up  a  puppet-king,  and  crowned  him  with 
great  parade  at  Ctesiphon,  but  could  not  give  him  the 
right  to  claim  or  the  force  to  secure  the  loyalty  of  an 
unwilling  nation.  His  generals  marched  with  dubious 
success  against  the  cities  that  had  risen  in  revolt,  while 
he  took  neld  himself  against  a  petty  power 
of  the  south,  whose  only  strength  lay  in  the  failed  to 
desert  in  which  it  was  entrenched.     He  dis-      fe? Vn  hls 

hold  upon 

played  in  the  campaign  all   his   old  hardi-       them  before 
hood  and   valour,  and  led  more  than  once      strength 
his  horsemen  to  the  charge  ;  but  heat  and      ^retti.1"™ 
drought  and  sickness  baffled  all  his  efforts, 
and  drove  him  back  at  last  with  tarnished  fame  and  ru- 
ined health. 

Once  more  he  talked  of  marching  to  chastise  the 
rebels  in  Chaldea,  but  his  strength  was  failing  fast,  and 
it  was  time  to  leave  the  scenes  where  he  had  won  so 
much  of  fruitless  glory,  and  swept  all  before  him  like  a 
passing  storm.  He  set  his  face  towards  Italy  upon  his 
homeward  way;  but  the  long  journey  was  too  much  for 
his  enfeebled  frame,  and  he  sank  down  at  Selinus  in 
Cilicia,  after  nearly  twenty  years  of  monarchy  and  more 
than  sixty  of  a  stirring  life. 

So  died  the  strongest  and  the  justest  of  the  imperial 
rulers  whom  Rome  had  seen  as  yet.  Only  in  the  last 
war  can  we  see  the  traces  of  the  despot's  He  died  af 
arrogance  and  vainglory.    The  Dacian  cam-        Selinus. 

•    1  ii  ,  -   ,  Augustus 

paigns  might  well  seem  needful  to  secure  a 


50  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ad. 

frontier  and  chastise  an  insolent  aggressor;  and  to  the 
soldier's  eye,  perhaps,  there  was  a  danger  that,  after  a 
century  of  peace,  the  Roman  empire  might 
settle  on  its  lees,  and  lose  its  energy  and 
self-respect.  At  home,  in  the  routine  of  civil  government 
he  was  wary  and  vigilant  and  self  restrained,  rising  as 
ruler  and  as  judge  above  the  suspicion  of  personal 
bias  and  caprice,  promptly  curbing  the  wrong-doer  and 
checking  the  officious  zeal  of  his  own  ministers.  He  was 
natural  and  unaffected  in  the  gentle  courtesies  of  com- 
mon life,  cared  little  for  the  outer  forms  of  rank,  and  was 
easy  of  access  to  the  meanest  of  his  people. 

Dion  Cassius,  who  never  fails  to  insist  upon  the  darker 
side  of  every  character  which  he  describes,  says  that  he 
was  lascivious  in  feeling,  and  given  to  habits  of  hard 
drinking,  but  owns  that  he  can  find  no  record  of  any- 
wrong  or  harm  done  by  him  in  such  moods.  The  re- 
fined Pliny  paints  for  us  a  different  picture  of  the  social 
life  in  which  he  took  a  part.  Coming  fresh  from  the 
meetings  of  the  privy  council  held  for  some  days  in  the 
Emperor's  villa,  he  tells  us  how  he  spent 

Ep.  vi.  31.  ,  .  _,,        r 

the  time  at  court.  The  fare,  it  seems,  was 
somewhat  simple;  there  was  no  costly  show  of  entertain- 
ments ;  but  publjc  readings  amused  the  guests,  and  lite- 
rary discussions  followed  with  pleasant  converse  far  into 
the  night. 

Through  the  great  monuments  which  were  called  after 
his  name,  Trajan  stood  to  the  fancy  of  the  middle  ages 

as  a  personal  symbol  of  the  force  and 
worloTof  art  grandeur  of  old  Rome;  but  art  and  poetry 
affect-dpow-     brought  him  forward   also  as  the  favourite 

erfully  the  & 

imagination  of  type  of  heathen   justice.     A  scene   in    the 

sculptures  of  his  forum  represented  him  as 

starting  for  the  wars,  while  a  woman  was  bending  low 


9  7~  1 1 7-  Trajan.  5 1 

with  piteous  gesture  at  his  feet.  Out  of  this  a  legend 
grew  that  a  poor  widow  came  to  him  to  ask  for  ven- 
geance on  the  soldiers  who  had  killed  her    ^  , 

Taken  as  a 

f,on.     "When  I  come  back  I  will  listen  to    type  of 

.,,    .,         t-  .j         1.   \       i       u        heathen jus- 

your  suit,     the   Emperor  said.        And  who    tice  in  legend 
will  right  me  if  you  die?"  was  the    reply.    and  art- 
"My  successor."     "Your   successor;    yes,  but   his   act 
will  not  profit  you,  and  it  were  better  surely  to  do  the  good 
yourself  and  to  deserve  the  recompense  that  will  follow.'' 
Trajan's   heart,  so  ran  the  story,  was  touched   by  the 
widow's  earnest  plea  ;    he  waited  patiently  to  hear  her 
case,  and  would  not  leave  till  she  had  justice  done  her. 
Such   is  the  form  the  legend  takes  in  the 
poetry  of  Dante,  and  it  is  with  this  meaning 
that  the  scene  was  pictured  to  the  fancy  in  many  a  work 
of  later  art,  such    as   that  which  we    still    may  see    at 
Venice  in  one  of  the  capitals  of  the  Doge's  palace. 

It  was  a  favourite  addition  to  the  story  that  Gregory 
the  Great  was  so  moved  with  sympathy  when  it  was  told 
him  that  he  prayed  for  the  soul  of  the  old  pagan,  who, 
having  not  the  law,  was  yet  a  law  unto  himself.  That 
very  night  he  saw  a  vision  in  his  sleep,  and  heard  that, 
in  answer  to  his  prayer,  the  soul  of  Trajan  had  winged 
its  flight  to  join  the  spirits  of  the  blest. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HADRIAN,  A.  D.    II7-I38. 

From  the  story  of  the  frank  and  earnest  Trajan,  we  turn 
with  a  strange  sense  of  contrast  to  the  hfe  and  character 
of  his  successor,  one  of  the  most  versatile  The  eariler 
and  paradoxical  of  men.     Of  the  career  of      life  of 

Hadrian. 

P.  ^Elius  Hadrianus,  little  is  known  to  us  for 


52  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  A.i>. 

the   forty  years  before   he  gained   the  throne,  and  the 
meagre  tale  may  be  soon  told. 

Born  himself  at  Rome,  he  came  of  a  family  which 
drew  its  name  from  Hadria  in  Northern  Italy,  but  had. 
been  settled  for  centuries  in  Spain.  Losing  his  father  at 
an  early  age,  he  came  under  the  care  of  Trajan,  his 
near  kinsman,  and  after  a  few  years,  in  which  he  made 
such  rapid  progress  in  his  studies  as  to  be  called  "  the 
little  Greekling,"  he  took  to  hunting  with  such  passion  as 
to  need  a  check,  and  was  therefore  put  at  once  into  the 
army,  and  taken  by  his  guardian  to  the  wars.  The  news 
of  Nerva's  death  found  him  in  Upper  Germany  at  a  dis- 
tance from  his  kinsman,  and  he  was  the  first  to  carry  to 
him  the  tidings  of  his  accession  to  the  empire,  outstrip- 
ping, though  on  foot,  the  courier  sent  by  his  sister's  hus- 
band Servianus,  who  had  contrived  to  make  his  carriage 
break  down  upon  the  way. 

The  same  relative  tried  also  to  make  mischief  by  call- 
ing Trajan's  notice  to  the  debts  and  youthful  follies  of 
his  ward ;  but  Hadrian  still  had  influence  at  court,  and 
stood  high  in  the  good  graces  of  Plotina,  married  by  her 
help  the  Emperor's  grand  niece,  and  had  a  legion  given 
him  to  command  in  the  second  Dacian  war.  In  this, 
as  afterwards  in  Pannonia  and  Parthia,  his  gallantry 
and  powers  of  discipline  were  spoken  of  with  marked 
approval ;  powerful  friends  began  to  rally  round  him 
at  the  court,  and  to  think  of  him  and  act  for  him  as  a 
possible  successor  to  the  throne.  But  no  decisive  word 
was  uttered  to  encourage  friends  or  to  alarm  his  rivals, 
„.        , ,  and  all  up  to  the  last  were  in  suspense,  till 

His  sudden  r  *  > 

elevation  to  he  heard  suddenly   in  Syria,  where  Trajan 

caused  ugly  had  left   him   in    command,  first,    that   the 

rumours.  emperor  had  named   him  as  his  heir,  and 

then  a  few  days  afterwards  that  the  post  of  monarchy 


1 1 7-138.  Hadrian.  5^ 

was  vacant.  So  sudden  was  the  act  as  to  give  rise  to 
ugly  rumours.  Plotina,  it  was  whispered,  who  loved 
him  fondly  if  not  wisely,  had  tampered  for  his  sake  with 
her  dying  husband's  will,  had  even  kept  his  death  a 
secret  for  a  time,  and  written  with  her  own  hand  the 
letters  to  the  Senate  which  named  Hadrian  his  heir. 
But  in  what  we  read  elsewhere  about  Plotina  she  appears 
as  a  type  of  womanly  dignity  and  honour,  and  the  story 
serves  best  perhaps  to  illustrate  the  licence  of  court 
scandal  which  absolute  monarchy  so  often  fosters. 

The  first  acts  of  the  new  sovereign  were  temperate  and 
wary.  His  letters  to  the  Senate  were  full  of  filial  respect 
for  Trajan  and  regard  for  constitutional  usage.  He  ex- 
cused himself  because  the  soldiers  in  their  haste  had 
hailed  him  Emperor  without  waiting  for  their  sanction, 
asked  for  divine  honours  for  the  departed  ruler,  whose 
remains  he  went  to  look  upon  with  dutiful  affection,  and 
sent  to  be  enshrined  within  the  famous  column  in  the 
forum.  Declining  the  triumph  for  himself,  he  had  Tra- 
jan's likeness  borne  in  state  along  the  streets  in  the  pa- 
geant that  was  to  do  honour  to  his  exploits.  But  for  all 
that,  Hadrian  was  in  no  mood  to  follow  in  his  steps,  had 
no  wish  to  copy  his  love  of  war  or  his  impe- 
rial   ambition.      On    every    frontier   hostile  Hl* mode; 

J  ration  and 

races  were  in  arms ;  in  far-off  Britain  as  policy  of 
well  as  in  the  East,  among  the  Moors  of 
Africa  and  among  the  bold  races  of  the  north  there  were 
rumours  of  invasion  or  revolt.  There  was  no  lack  of 
opportunities,  nor,  indeed,  of  armies  trained  to  conquest; 
but  he  was  not  to  be  tempted  with  the  hope  of  military 
laurels,  and  his  constant  policy  was  one  of  peace.  He 
withdrew  at  once  the  weak  pretender  forced  upon  the 
Parthians  by  the  arms  of  Rome,  and  left  all  the  lands 
beyond  the  Tigris  where  no  western  colonists  had  any 


54  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

claims  upon  his  care.  It  was  far  otherwise  in  Dacia,  in 
which  peaceful  settlers  had  found  a  home  for  years,  and 
strongholds  had  been  garrisoned  for  their  defence.  It 
would  seem  therefore  most  unlikely  that  he  thought  of 
drawing  back  his  troops  from  the  strong  mountain  bar- 
rier of  Transylvania,  and  of  leaving  the  new  province 
to  its  fate.  Later  writers,  reflecting  possibly  the  discon- 
tent of  Trajan's  generals,  said  indeed  that  he  was  mind- 
ed to  do  this,  and  that  he  had  actually  begun  to  break 
the  bridge  across  the  Danube  ;  but  the  facts  remain, 
that  the  language  and  the  arts  of  Rome  steadily  gained 
ground  upon  that  northern  border,  and  that  Hadrian 
surrendered  nothing  which  was  worth  retaining.  For 
the  rest,  in  other  parts  of  the  great  empire,  he  was  con- 
tent to  restore  order,  and  waged  no  offensive  warfare. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  not  only  had   he  personal  hardi- 
hood and  valour,  and  was  ready  on  the   march  to  face 
the   heat  and  labours  of  the  day  like  the 
was  accom-       meanest  soldier  in  the  ranks,  but  he  always 

panied   by 

personal  with   watchful  care  maintained  his  armies 

and  strict  in  a  state  of  vigour  and  efficiency  that  sel- 

dlfciplme  ^om   nac^  been   rivalled.     He   swept  away 

with  an  unsparing  hand  the  abuses  of  the 
past,  and  insisted  on  the  austere  discipline  of  ancient 
days,  putting  down  with  peremptory  sternness  the  luxu- 
rious arrangements  of  the  camp,  which  even  in  Germa-ny 
endangered  the  soldier's  manliness  and  self-control,  and 
still  more  in  Syria,  where  the  wanton  Antioch,  hot-bed 
of  licence  as  it  was,  spread  far  around  it  the  contagion 
of  its  dissolute  and  unruly  temper.  In  the  spirit  of  the 
generals  of  olden  time  he  walked  bareheaded  alike 
through  Alpine  snows  and  in  the  scorching  heats  of 
Afrira,  setting  them  thus  a  pattern  of  robust  endurance. 
In   every  land  through  which   he  passed  he  inspected 


117-133-  Hadrian.  55 

carefully  the  forts,  encampments,  arsenals,  and  stores, 
and  seemed  to  have  lodged  in  his  capacious  memory 
the  story  of  each  legion,  and  the  names  even  of  the  rank 
and  file. 

In  the  centre  of  Algeria  we  may  still  trace  the  ram- 
parts of  a  camp  where  an  auxiliary  force  was  stationed 
to  defend  the    border  and   to  be  the   pio- 
neers  of  civilized  progress.     On  a  column       Theinscnp- 

r       o  tion  in  the 

which  was  raised  in  the  centre  of  the  camp       camp  in 

.  Lambaesis. 

was    posted    in    monumental    characters  a 
proclamation    of    the  Emperor   to   the  soldiers    of  this 
distant  outpost,  in  which  he  dwells  upon  their  laborious 
energy  and  loyal  zeal. 

Thus  trained  and  organized,  his  armies  were  formida- 
ble weapons  for  the  hand  of  an  enterprising  leader;  but 
he  used  them  wholly  for  repression  or  defence,  and 
never  with  aggressive  aims.  Even  in  Britain,  where 
the  peaceful  south  was  harassed  by  the  incursions  of  the 
wilder  tribes,  in  place  of  any  war  of  conquest  a  great 
wall,  a  triple  line  of  earthworks  strengthened  by  a  high 
wall  of  solid  masonry,  was  carried  for  many  a  mile 
across  the  country,  to  be  a  barrier  to  the  northern  sav- 
agery ;  and  fragments  of  the  work  may  yet  be  seen 
between  Newcastle  and  Carlisle  to  show  how  earnestly 
defence  was  sought  by  the  ruler  who  built  on  such  a 
scale. 

But  it  was  no  love  of  personal  ease  that  clipped  the 
wings  of  his  ambition.       Instead  of  staying   quietly  at 
Rome  to  take  his  pleasure,  he  was  always  on 
the  move,  and  every  province  witnessed  in       constantly6 
its  turn  the  restless  activitv  of  his  imperial       through  the 

'  l  provinces. 

care.     The  coins  struck  in  his  honour  as  he 
went  to  and   fro   upon   his  journeys,  the  stately  monu- 
ments and  public  works  which  were  called  into  being  by 


56  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 


him  as  he  passed  along,  these  are  evidence  enough, 
when  the  meagre  accounts  of  our  historians  fail  to  tell 
us,  of  the  wide  range  of  his  long-continued  wanderings 
and  of  the  benefits  which  followed  in  his  train. 

The  empire  had  long  claimed  to  govern  in  the  inter- 
ests of  the  provinces,  and  not  of  Rome  alone,  and  here 
at  last  was  an  Emperor  who  seemed  resolved  to  see  with 
his  own  eyes  all  his  people's  wants,  to  spend  with  liberal 
bounty  for  the  common  good,  to  reform  impartially  the 
abuses  of  old  times,  and  lay  the  heavy  rod  of  his  dis- 
pleasure upon  all  his  weak  or  faithless  servants.  To  the 
largeness  of  such  aims  there  corresponded  a  breadth  and 
manysidedness  of  character  and  powers;  and  few  living 
men  were  better  fitted  to  anter  with  fresh  interest  into 
the  varied  life  of  all  the  lands  through  which  he  tra- 
velled. Had  he  not  been  emperor  he  might  have  been 
a  sort  of  "admirable  Crichton."  He  had  thrown  him- 
self with  eager  curiosity  into  all  the  art  and  learning  of 
his  age,  and  his  vast  memory  enabled  him  to  take  all 
knowledge  for  his  own.  Poet,  geometer, 
allTbrfadth  musician,  orator,  and  artist,  he  had  studied 
of  view  and        a][  the  p-races  and  accomplishments  of  lib- 

Lirgeness  of  °  r 

sympathy  eral  culture,  knew  something  of  the  history 

almost  unique.  ,  .  .  .  1  1  • 

and  genius  of  every  people,  could  estimate 
their  literary  or  artistic  skill,  and  admire  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  past. 

But  he  was  far  from  travelling  merely  as  an  antiqua- 
rian or  art  critic,  for  he  left  in  every  land  enduring 
traces  of  his  present  care.  The  bridges,  aqueducts,  and 
theatres  were  repaired,  fresh  public  works  were  under- 
taken, municipal  accounts  were  overhauled,  the  gover- 
nors' official  acts  reviewed,  and  every  department  of  the 
public  service  thoroughly  sifted  and  controlled.  The 
imperial  treasury  was  seen  to  gather  in  its  stores  in  the 


1 1 7—138.  liadrian.  57 

interest  of  the  provinces  at  large,  and  not  for  a  few  dis- 
solute favourites  at  court  or  for  the  idle  populace  of 
Rome.  To  symbolize  in  striking  forms  his  impartial 
care  for  all  his  subjects,  he  was  ready  to  accept  local 
offices  of  every  kind,  and  discharge  by  deputy  the 
magisterial  functions  in  the  district  towns  under  every 
variety  of  national  title. 

In  the  movements  of  the  imperial  tourist  there  was 
little  luxury  or  ostentation.  He  walked  or  rode  in  mili- 
tary guise  before  his  guard,  with  his  head  uncovered  in 
all  weather,  ready  to  share  without  a  murmur  the  legion- 
ary's humble  fare,  and  to  bear  all  the  heat  and  labour 
of  the  day.  History  gives  us  few  details  as  to  the  exact 
course  and  order  of  his  wanderings,  but  inscriptions 
upon  bronze  and  stone  abound  with  the  tokens  of  his 
energy  in  every  land,  and  of  the  thankfulness  with 
which  each  province  hailed  the  presence  of  its  ruler. 

In  Britain,  which  had  seen  no  emperor  since  Claudius, 
he  came  to  inspect  the  menaced  frontier,  and  to  plan  the 
long  lines  of  defence  against  the  free  races        _.    , 

_  We  hear  of 

of  the  north.     In  Africa  we  find  him  sooth-        him  in 
ing  the  disquiet  caused  of  late  by  the  panic 
fears  of  Jewish  massacres  and  Roman  vengeance.     His 
diplomacy  and  liberal  courtesies  dispel  the 
clouds  of  war  that  gather  on  the  lines  of  the 
Euphrates  and  are  serious  enough  to  require  his  pre- 
sence on  the  scene.     On  the  plains  of  Troy  we  hear  of 
him  gazing  around  him    in   the  spirit  of  a  pilgrim,  and 
solemnly  burying  the  gigantic  relics  in  which  his  rever- 
ent fancy  saw  the  bones  of  Ajax.     The  great  towns  of 
western  Asia  are  proud  to  let  their  Emperor 

,      .  ,  .        ,      .      .      ,  ...  Asia  Minor. 

see  their  wealth,  their  industry,  their  teem- 
ing  populations;    they  have  to  thank  him  for  many  a 
public  monument  of  note,  and  record  upon  their  coinage 


5 8  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

in  many  a  varying  phrase  and  symbol  his  justice,  liber- 
ality, and  guardian  care. 

But  it  was  in  Athens  that  he  tarried  longest,  or  hither 
he  came  most  frequently  to  find  repose  as  in  his  favourite 
home.  Here  in  the  centre  of  the  old  Hellenic  art,  he 
put  otf  awhile  the  soldier  and  the  prince,  and  soothed 
himself  with  the  amenities  of  liberal  culture.     He  tried 

to  fancy  himself  back  in  the  Greek  life  of 
Athena  palmier  days;    he    presided   at   the    public 

m  re  than        games,  sat  by  to  witness  the  feats  of  literary 

skill,  raised  the  theatres  and  temples  from 
their  ruins,  and  asked  to  be  admitted  to  the  venerable 
mysteries  of  their  national  faith.     To  the  Athens  of  old 

days  he  added  a  new  quarter,  to  be  called 
Kberaily6  henceforth  Hadrian's  city  ;  he  gave  it  a  new 

endowed  art      cocje  0f  jaws  to  r}vai  those  of  Dracon  and 

and  learning, 

of  Solon,  and  recalled  some  shadowy  me- 
mories of  its  days  of  sovereign  power  by  making  it  mis- 
tress of  the  isle  of  Kephallonia.  It  had  already  acade- 
mic fame,  and  drew  its  scholars  from  all  lands ;  its 
public  professorships  had  given  a  recognised  status  to 
its  studies  ;  fresh  endowments  were  bestowed  upon  its 
chairs  with  a  liberal  hand,  and  nothing  was  spared  for 
the  encouragement  of  learning. 

The  lecturers  on  rhetoric  and  philosophy,  the  so-called 

sophists,  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  imperial  favour,  had 

immunities    and   bounties    showered    upon 

honouring  .,  j  ,       .   , .  ai  c 

there  and  them,  and  were  raised  at  times  to  offices  ot 

elsewhere  state  and  high  command.     One  of  them  was 

t mc  pro-  o 

feasors  of  intrusted  with  a  princely  fortune  to  beautify 

science  " 

the  city  which  he  honoured  with  his  learned 
presence.  Another  found  his  professional  income  large 
enough  to  feed  his  fellow  citizens  in  time  of  famine.  A 
third,  the  writer  Arrian,  was  taken  from  his  Stoic  mu- 


1 1 7— 13S.  Hadrian.  59 

sings  to  fill  the  place  of  general  and  governor  of  Cappa- 
docia,  one  of  the  largest  of  the  provinces  of  Rome. 
There  in  his  turn  he  followed  the  example  set  him  in 
high  quarters,  started  from  Trapezus  (Trebizond)  upon 
a  journey  of  discovery  round  the  coasts  of  the  Black 
Sea,  visited  the  seats  of  the  old  colonial  enterprises  of 
Miletus,  studied  with  a  careful  eye  the  extent  of  trade 
and  the  facilities  for  intercourse  in  prosperous  regions 
not  yet  ruined  by  the  incursions  of  barbarian  hordes. 
The  explorer's  journey  ended,  he  wrote  a  valuable 
memoir  to  his  master  ;  which  is  of  interest  as  gather- 
ing up  all  that  geography  had  learned  upon  the  sub- 
ject. 

There  was  yet  another  ancient  land  which  had  mani- 
fold attractions  for  the  tourist.  It  was  seemingly  in  later 
life  that  Hadrian  tarried  long  in  Egypt,  to 

explore  the  wonders  of  its  art  and  study  the       Hadrian  m 
1  }  Egypt. 

genius  of  its  people.  He  looked  no  doubt 
with  curious  eye  upon  the  pyramids,  the  sphinxes,  and 
the  giant  piles  of  Carnac,  and  the  rude  lines  may  still 
be  read  upon  the  face  of  Memnon's  vocal  statue  which 
tell  us  of  the  visit  of  his  wife  Sabina.  His  curious  fancy 
found  enough  to  stir  it  in  the  secrets  of  the  mystic  lore 
which  had  been  handed  down  from  bygone  ages,  in  the 
strange  medley  of  the  wisdom  and  the  folly  which 
crossed  each  other  in  the  national  thought,  in  their  strong 
hold  on  the  belief  in  an  unseen  world  and  the  moral 
government  of  Providence,  in  the  animal  worship  which 
had  plunged  of  late  a  whole  neighbourhood  into  deadly 
feud  about  the  conflicting  claims  of  "cat  and  ibis,  and 
made  rival  towns  dispute  in  arms  their  right  to  feed  in 
their  midst  the  sacred  bull  called  Apis  for 'the  adoration 
of  the  rest.  He  could  not  but  admire  the  great  museum 
of  the  Ptolemies,  the  magnificent'  seat  of  art  and  litera- 


6o  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 


I 


a' 


ture  and  science,  the  home  for  centuries  of  so  much 
academic  wit  and  learning. 

In  that  land  of  many  wonders  the  people  of  Alexandria 

were  not  the  least.      In   a  letter  to   his   brother-in-law 

..V  TT.      .  which  still  remains  we  mav  see  the  mocking: 

Oyl     Hist.  Aug.  ..... 

^ \  Vopisci  insight  with  which  the  emperor  studied  the 

changing  moods  of  the  great  city,  full,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  of  soothsayers,  astrologers,  and  quacks, 
\  of  worshippers  of  Christ  and  votaries  of  Serapis,  passing 

Qv  in  their  fickleness  from  extreme    of  loyalty  to  that  of 

$  N.  .      licence,  so  industrious  by  instinct  as  to  tolerate  no  idle 
k  lounger  in  their  midst,  and  yet  withal  so  turbulent  as  to 

be  incapable  of  governing  themselves,  professing  rever- 
ence for  many  a  rival  deity,  yet  all  alike  paying  their 
court  to  Mammon. 

But  even  as  he  scoffed  at  the  fanciful  extravagance  of 
Egypt,  he  was  unmanned  by  the  spell  of  her  distempered 
thought.  As  he  travelled  on  the  Nile,  we  read,  he  was 
busy  with  magic  arts  which  called  for  a  human  victim. 
One  of  his  train,  a  Bithynian  shepherd  of  rare  beauty, 
was  ready  to  devote  himself,  and  died  to  give 

The  death  .  >  i  i  •  A 

andapo-  a  moments    pleasure  to   his    master.     An- 

theosis  of  other  story  tells  us  only  that  he  fell  into  the 

Antinous.  J  J 

river,  and  died  an  involuntary  death.  But 
both  agree  in  this  at  least,  that  Hadrian  loved  him 
fondly,  mourned  him  deeply,  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted when  he  was  gone.  He  could  not  bring  him 
back  to  life,  but  he  could  honour  him  as  no  sovereign 
had  honoured  man/before.  The  district  where  he  died 
must  bear  his  name,  and  a  city  grow  on  the  spot  where 
he  was  buried.  If  the  old  nomes  of  Egypt  had  their 
tutelary  beasts  which  they  worshipped  as  divine,  the 
Antinoite  might  claim  like  rank  for  the  new  hero  who 
had  given  it  a  name,  might  build  temples  to  his  memory, 


1 1 7—1 38.  Hadrian.  61 

consult  his  will  in  oracles,  and  task  the  arts  of  Greece  to 
lodge  him  worthily.  Soon  the  new  religion  spread  be- 
yond those  narrow  bounds.  City  after  city  of  the  Greek 
and  Eastern  world  caught  the  fever  of  this  servile  adora- 
tion, built  altars  and  temples  to  Antinous,  founded  festi- 
vals to  do  him  honour,  and  dressed  him  up  to  modern 
fancy  in  the  attributes  and  likeness  of  their  ancient  gods. 
The  sculptor's  art  lent  itself  with  little  scruple  to  the 
spreading  flattery  of  the  fashion,  reproduced  him  under 
countless  forms  as  its  favourite  type  of  beauty,  while 
poets  laureate  sung  his  praises,  and  provincial  mints 
put  his  face  and  name  upon  their  medals. 

We  may  see  the  tokens   at  this  time  of  an  influence 
rather  cosmopolitan  than  Roman.     By  his  visible  con- 
cern for  the  well-being  of  the  provinces,  by 
his   long-continued    wanderings    in    every         5teresisS 
land,  by  his  Hellenic  svmpathies  and  tastes,  cosmo- 

■'       '  politan 

Hadrian    lessened    certainly  the    attractive  more  than 

force  of  the  old  imperial  city,  and  dealt  a 
blow  at  her  ascendancy  overmen's  minds.  Not  indeed 
that  he  treated  her  with  any  marked  neglect.  The 
round  of  shows  and  largesses  went  on  as  usual :  the 
public  granaries  were  filled,  the  circus  was  supplied  with 
costly  victims,  and  the  proud  paupers  of  the  streets  had 
little  cause  to  grumble.  The  old  religions  of  home 
growth  were  guarded  by  the  state  with  watchful  care, 
and  screened  from  the  dangerous  rivalry  of  the  deeper 
sentiment  or  more  exciting  rituals  of  the  East.  In  her 
streets  he  himself  wore  the  toga,  the  citizen's  traditional 
dress  of  state,  required  the  senators  to  do  the  like,  and 
so  revived  for  a  time  decaying  custom.  But  the  pro- 
vinces began  to  feel  themselves  more  nearly  on  a  level 
with  the  central  city.  Every  year  the  doors  of  citizen- 
ship seemed  to  open  wider  as  one  after  another  of  the 


62  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

towns   was  raised  by  special   grace  to   the 

As  the 

provinces  Latin  or  the  Roman  status.     Each  Emperor 

self-respect,  nad  done  his  part  towards  the  diffusion  of 

ancvofend"  t^e  ri&nts  which  had  been  the  privilege  of 

Rome  and  the    capital    in    olden    time  ;    and  Hadrian 

of  her  lan- 
guage grew        made  them  feel  that  he  was  ruling  in  the 

interests  of  all  without  distinction,  since  he 
spent  his  life  in  wandering  through  their  midst,  and  met 
their  wants  with  liberal  and  impartial  hand.  They 
looked  therefore  less  and  less  to  Rome  to  set  the  tone 
and  guide  the  fashions.  The  great  towns  of  Alexandria 
and  Antioch,  the  thriving  marts  of  Asia  Minor,  were 
separate  centres  of  influence  and  commerce ;  and  Greece, 
meanwhile,  spectral  and  decayed  as  were  her  ancient 
cities,  resumed  her  intellectual  sway  over  men's  minds, 
students  of  all  lands  flocked  to  her  university  of  culture, 
and  the  tongue  which  her  poets,  philosophers,  and 
orators  had  spoken  became  henceforth  without  a  rival 
the  literary  language  of  the  world.  The  speech  of  Cicero 
and  Vergil  gradually  lost  its  purity  and  power  ;  scholars 
disdained  to  pen  their  thoughts  in  it :  taste  and  fashion 
seemed  to  shun  it,  and  scarcely  a  great  name  is  added 
after  this  to  the  roll  of  its  writers  of  renown. 

In  the  sphere  of  law  and  justice  another  levelling  in- 
fluence had  been  at  work  which  was  carried 
i-jflu  nee  of g     further  at  this  time.    The  civil  law  of  Rome, 
'ie"perpetu-     w^  its  old  traditional   usages  and  forms, 

J  edict.  -  ° 

had  long  been  seen  by  statesmen  to  need 
expansion  in  a  liberal  spirit  before  the  courts  could  fairly 
deal  with  the  suits  of  alien&,  or  wr?h  new  cases  wholly 
undefined.  The  praetors  had  for  many  years  put  out  a 
statement  of  the  principles*"by  which  they  would  be 
guided  in  dealing  with  the  questions  where  the  statute 
law  would  fail  them  or  press  hardly  on  the  suitors,  and 


1 1 7-138.  Hadrian.  63 

many  of  these  rules  and  forms,  though  at  first  binding 
only  for  the  year,  had  gradually  crystallised  into  a  sys- 
tem of  equity,  which  passed  commonly  from  hand  to 
hand,  though  somewhat  loose  and  ill-defined,  and  with 
much  room  for  individual  judgment  and  caprice.  It  was 
a  gain  to  progress  when  Salvius  Julianus,  an  eminent 
jurist  of  the  day,  sifted  and  harmonized  these  floating 
principles  and  forms  of  justice,  giving  them  a  systematic 
shape  under  the  name  of  Hadrian's  "perpetual  edict." 
It  was  a  great  step  towards  the  imperial  codes  of  later 
days,  in  which  the  currents  of  world-wide  experience 
and  Greek  philosophy  were  mingled  with  the  stream  of 
purely  Roman  thought.  The  Emperor  was  the  sole 
legislator  of  the  realm ;  the  statutes  were  the  expression 
of  his  personal  will;  but  the  great  jurists  who  advised 
him  in  the  council  chamber  came  from  countries  far 
away,  and  reflected  in  many  various  forms  the  universal 
sense  of  justice. 

(So  far  we  have  seen  only  the  strength  of  Hadrian's 
character.  To  organize  and  drill  the  armies  in  a  period 
of  almost  unbroken  peace,  and  give  a  tone  to  discipline 
which  lasted  on  long  after  he  was  gone,  to  study  by  per- 
sonal intercourse  the  problems  of  government  in  every 
land,  dealing  with  all  races  on  the  same  broad  level  of 
impartial  justice,  to  combine  the  rigid  machinery  and 
iron  force  of  Roman  rule  with  the  finer  graces  of  Hel- 
lenic culture,  this  was  a  policy  which,  borrowed  as  it  was 
perhaps  from  the  old  traditions  of  Augustus,  yet  could 
be  carried  out  only  by  an  intellect  of  most  unusual  flexi- 
bility and  force. j  For  the  work  which  was  to  be  done 
upon  so  vast  a  scale  he  had  only  limited  resources  ;  he 
dealt  with  it  in  a  spirit  which  was  at  once  Hadrian's  fru- 
liberal    and   thrifty,    thus  following   in    the    gaiity  and 

'  '  °  good  finance. 

steps  of  the  wisest  emperors  who  had  gone 


64  The  Age  of  the  AntoJiines.  a.d. 

before  him.      In  the  first  year  of  his  reign  he  had  re- 
mitted the  arrears  due  to  the  treasury  to  the  amount  of 
900  million   sesterces,  burning   the    bonds   in    Trajan's 
forum  as  a  public  offering  to  his  memory.    The  charities 
lately  set  on  foot  for  the  rearing  of  poor  children  were 
endowed   by  him  with   further  bounties.     We  may  still 
read  the  medals   struck  in   honour  of  his  largesses  of 
money  to  the  populace  of  Rome,  repeated  on  seven  dis- 
tinct occasions.    Prompt  succour  was  given  with  a  kindly 
hand  to  the  sufferers  by  fire  and  plague  and  earthquake 
in  all  parts  of  the  widespread  empire.    But  to  meet  such 
calls  upon  his  purse,  and  to  maintain  the  armies  and  the 
civil  service,  he  felt  the  need  of  frugal  ways  and  good 
finance.     He  revised  the  imperial  budget  with  the  skill 
of  a  trained  accountant,  held  the  details   in  his  reten- 
tive memory,  and  would    have  no  waste  or  peculation. 
Economy  was  the  order  of  his  household ;    no  greedy 
favourites  or  freedmen  grew  fat  and  wanton  at  the  trea- 
sury's expense;  the  purveyors  of  his  table   even   found 
that  they  must  be  careful,  for  at  his  dinners  of  state  he 
sent  sometimes  to  taste  the  dishes  which  were  served  to 
the  humblest  of  his  guests. 

But  great  as  were  Hadrian's  talents,  and  consistent  in 

the  main  as  was  his  policy  as  ruler,  we  are  yet  told  of 

many  a  pettiness   and    strange   caprice.      If  we  try  to 

study  his   real  character  it  seems,  like  the 

Put  . 

Hadrian's  legendary  Proteus,  to  take   every  form   by 

fieTwcre11"  turns,  to  pass  from  the  brightest  to  the  dark- 

bailncecfby  est    moods   hY  some    inexplicable   fantasy. 

dark  moods  One  of  the  first  things  we  read  of  him  on  his 

and  strange  .  ... 

caprices.  nse  to  power  is  his  speech  to  an  old  enemy, 

"  Now  you  are  safe,"  as  if  he  could  stoop  no 

longer  to  the  meanness  of  a  personal  quarrel.     He  will 

not  listen  to  the  advice  of  a  trusty  friend    to  sweep  out 


117-138-  Hadrian.  65 

of  his  path  three  men  who  might  be  dangerous  rivals; 
but  shortly  afterwards  Rome  heard  with  horror  that  the 
most  eminent  of  Trajan's  generals,  Cornelius  Palma,  the 
conqueror  of  Arabia,  and  Lusius  Quietus,  perhaps  the 
ablest  soldier  of  his  day,  with  other  men  of 
special    mark,    had    oeen    suddenly    struck  cious 

down  unheard,  without  any  forms   of  legal  temper, 

trial,  on  the  plea  of  traitorous  plots  against  the  Emperor's 
life.  Resenting  probably  as  a  personal  affront  the  sur- 
render of  the  conquests  which  they  had  helped  to  win 
for  Trajan,  and  despising  the  scholar  prince  whose  great 
qualities  were  as  yet  unknown,  they  had  made  common 
cause,  as  it  was  said,  with  malcontents  at  Rome,  and 
joined  in  a  wide-spread  conspiracy.  Hadrian  indeed 
was  in  Dacia  at  the  time,  and  soon  came  back  in  haste, 
and  with  good  reason,  seemingly,  threw  upon  the  prae- 
torian prsefect  and  the  Senate  the  burden  of  the  dark 
deed  that  had  been  done,  promising  that  henceforth  no 
senator  should  be  condemned  except  by  the  sentence  of 
his  peers.  He  kept  his  word  till  his  reason  lost  its  bal- 
ance. But  years  afterwards  the  instinct  of  cruelty  broke 
out  in  fearful  earnest.  When  old  age  and  sickness 
pressed  him  hard,  and  the  reins  of  power  were  slipping 
from  his  hands,  his  fears  of  treachery  proved  fatal  to  his 
nearest  intimates  and  kinsmen,  to  those  who  had  se- 
cured his  rise  to  empire,  or  had  shown  their  loyalty  by 
the  service  of  a  life-time. 

As  we  read  the  story  in  the  poor  chroniclers  of  a  later 
age  the  description  of  his  personal  habits  is  full  of 
striking  inconsistencies.  He  lived  with  the  citizens  of 
Rome  as  with  his  peers,  and  moved  to  and  fro  with  little 
state  ;  yet  he  was  the  first  Emperor  to  employ  the  ser- 
vices of  knights  for  the  menial  offices  of  the  palace  filled 
hitherto  by  treedmen.     He  would  hear  no  more  of  the 


66  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

charges  of  high  treason  so  terrible  in  years  gone  by,  he 

would  have  the  courts  of  law  to  act  without  respect  of 

persons  ;  but  he  organized  a  system  of  espi- 

system  of  onage  of  a    new  and  searching-  kind,  and 

espionage,  °  °  ' 

read  the  familiar  correspondence  of  his 
friends,  twitting  them  even,  now  and  then,  with  the  re- 
proaches of  their  wives  meant  only  for  the  husbands' 
ears.  He  loved  art  and  literature  sincerely,  he  liked  to 
be  surrounded  with  the  men  who  studied  them  in  ear- 
nest, but  they  thought  at  least  that  he  took  umbrage 
easily  at  any  fancied  rivalry,  and  was  full  of  jealousy 
and  unworthy  spite. 

It  was  dangerous  to  be  too  brilliant  where  the  Empe- 
ror wished  to  shine,  and  there  were  few  departments  of 
the  fine  arts  in  which  he  did  not  find  himself 
oufyof1"  at    home.      The    scholar   Favorinus    once 

brilliant  was  asked  whv  he  had  given  way  so  easily 

powers,  .  -  °  J 

in  a  dispute  upon  a  point  of  grammar  when 
he  was  in  the  right,  and  he  answered  with  good  *v,ason, 
"  It  is  not  a  prudent  thing  to  call  in  question  the  learning 
of  the  master  of  thirty  legions."  The  professors  of  re- 
pute who  moved  his  envy  found  their  pupils  taken  from 

them,  or  rival  lecturers  started  <o  irritate 
SsTof  and  supplant  them.     Apollodorm    the  great 

Apoliodoms.  arch}tect,  was  even  more  unlucky.  Long  ago 
in  Trajan's  company  he  had  listened  with  \  npatience 
to  the  future  Emperoi's  critical  remarks,  and  had  told 
him  to  paint  pumpkins  and  not  to  meddle  wwh  design. 
Years  afterwards,  when  Hadrian  sent  him  his  own  plans 
for  the  temple  of  Aphrodite  which  he  wished  to  build,  it 
was  returned  with  the  offensive  comment  that  the  statue 
of  the  goddess  was  made  upon  so  large  a  scale  that  she 
could  not  stand  upright  in  her  own  house.  The  critic 
paid  with  his  life,  we  read,  the  penalty  for  his  sharp  words. 


1 1 7—138.  Hadrian.  6  7 

Even  the  glory  of  the  immortal  dead  stirred  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  artist  prince,  and  he  affected  to  prefer  C:;r.o 
to  Cicero,  Ennius  to  Vergil,  the  obscure  Antimachus  to 
Homer.  He  was  said  to  be  jealous  of  the  fame  of  Trajan 
and  therefore  to  attribute  to  his  most  secret  counsels  the 
most  unpopular  of  his  own  measures  ;  by  way  of  indi- 
rectly blaming  him,  he  would  not  have  his  own  name 
put  upon  any  of  the  public  buildings  which  he  raised, 
while  yet  he  was  ready  to  allow  some  twenty  cities  to 
take  their  title  from  him. 

It  was  a  marked  feature  of  his  policy  to  be  on  good 
terms  with  the  chieftains  of  the  border  races,  and 
to  win  their  good -will  with   ample   presents, 

His  tiilvlcncss 

a  dangerous  precedent  perhaps  for  the  tri- 
bute paid  to  barbarians  by  later  rulers ;  but  after  receiv- 
ing one  of  them  at  Rome  with  special  honour,  he  treated 
with  contempt  the  robes  of  state  presented  to  him  by  his 
illustrious  guest,  dressing  up  in  like  attire  300  criminals 
whom  he  sent  to  fight  as  gladiators  in  the  circus. 

He  was  courteous  and  kindly  to  his  friends,  granting 
them  readily  the  boons  they  asked  ;  yet  he  listened  with 
open  ears  to  scandalous  stories  to  their  hurt,  and  few 
even  of  the  most  favoured  escaped  at  last  without  dis- 
grace.    Shrewd  and  hardheaded  as  he  was, 

,       ,      ,.  j  ,  superstition, 

he  believed  in  necromancy,  magic,  and  as- 
trology, and  after  making  much  of  keeping  up  the  purity 
of  the  old  national  faith,  he  allowed  the  flattery  of  his 
people  to  canonize  Antinous,  the  minion  who  won  his 
love  in  later  vears.  In  fine,  savs  one  of  the  oldest  writers 
of  his  life,  after  reckoning  up  his  fickle  moods  and  varied 
graces,  "  he  was  everything  by  turns  ;  earnest  and  light- 
hearted,  courteous  and  stern,  bountiful  and  thrifty, 
frank  and  dissembling,  wary  and  wanton  " — a  very  cha- 
meleon with    changing  colours.       It  seemed   as   If    he 


68  2 he  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ad. 

and  para-  gathered  up  in  his  paradoxical  and   many- 

doxical  °.  ,,,,-•  ,-   ■  j 

variety  of  sided  nature  all  the  fair  qualities  and  gross 

empei  defects  which   singly  characterised  each  of 

the  earlier  rulers.     Yet  we  have  grave  reasons  for  mis- 
trusting the  accounts  which  reach  us  from  such  question- 
able sources  as  the    poor  "biographies    and 

Reasons  for  1  _ 

mistrusting        epitomes  of  a  much  later  age,  which   often 

these  accounts     ,  r        .  ..  ,*  M         , 

of  ancient  betray  a  fatal  want  of  judgment  while  they 

reflect  the  credulous  malevolence  of  rumour. 
Rome  had  no  tender  feeling  for  a  ruler  who  seemed 
more  at  home  in  learned  Athens,  or  in  the  camp  among 
the  soldiers,  than  in  the  old  capital  of  fashion  and  of 
power.  The  idle  nobles  doubtless  were  well  pleased  to 
repeat  and  colour  the  ill-natured  stories  which  floated  in 
the  air,  and  in  the  literary  circles  gathered  round  the 
prince  -there  were  sensitive  and  jealous  spirits  ready  to 
resent  a  hasty  word  and  think  their  merits  unacknow- 
ledged, or  to  point  a  venomed  epigram  against  the 
Emperor's  sorry  taste.  Hadrian  was  a  master  in  the 
fence  of  words,  and  could  hit  hard  in  repartees,  as  when 
a  tippling  poet  wrote  of  him  in  jesting  strain,  "I  should 
not  like  to  be  a  Csesar,  roaming  through  the  wilds  of 
Britain,  suffering  from  Scythian  frosts,"  he  answered  in 
the  same  metre,  "  I  should  not  like  to  be  a  Florus,  wan- 
dering among  the  taverns  and  keeping  pothouse  com- 
pany." He  may  well  have  shown  impatience  at  petty 
vanities  and  literary  quarrels,  or  have  amused  himself  at 
the*ir  expense  with  scant  regard  for  ruffled  pride;  but  if 
we  pass  from  words  to  facts  few  definite  charges  can  be 
brought  against  his  dignity  or  justice  as  a  prince.  An 
enlightened  patron  of  the  arts,  he  fostered  learning  with 
a  liberal  bounty,  advanced  to  posts  of  trust  the  scholars 
whose  talents  he  had  noticed,  and  knew  how  to  turn 
their  powers  to  practical  account,  as  when  Salvius  Julia- 


1 1 7—1 38.  Hadrian.  69 

nus  began,  probably  by  his  direction,  to  compile  a  code 
of  equity,  or  when  he  prompted  Arnan  to  compose  his 
"  Tactics  "  and  explore  the  line  of  border  forts  upon  the 
Euxine,  or  when  he  bade  Apollodorus  to  write  his  treatise 
on  artillery  (Poliorketica),  the  opening  words  of  which, 
though  written  in  exile,  betray  no  personal  resentment 
as  of  one  suffering  from  a  wanton  wrong.  With  that 
exception,  if  it  really  was  one,  there  is  no  clear  case  of 
harshness  or  of  cruelty  to  stain  his  memory  until  his 
reason  failed  in  the  frenzy  of  his  dying  agony.  To  set 
against  such  rumours  and  suspicions  we  have  proofs 
enough,  in  monumental  evidence  and  in  the  works  which 
lived  on  after  he  was  gone,  of  the  greatness  of  the  sov- 
ereign, who  left  abiding  tokens  of  his  energy  strewn 
through  all  the  lands  of  the  vast  empire,  who  kept  his 
legions  in  good  humour  though  busy  with  unceasing 
drill,  who  stamped  his  influence  for  centuries  upon  the 
forms  of  military  service,  drew  vast  lines  of  fortresses 
and  walls  round  undefended  frontiers,  reorganized  de- 
partments of  the  civil  service,  and  withal  found  leisure 
enough  and  width  of  intellectual  sympathies  to  appreci- 
ate and  foster  all  the  higher  culture  of  the  age. 

We   may  find  perhaps  a  sort  of  symbol  of  his  wide 
range  of  tastes  in  the  arrangements  of  the  villa  and  the 
gardens  which  he  planned  for  himself  in  his 
old  age  at  Tibur  (Tivoli).      No  longer  able        £.is  v.i,la  at 

°  '  °  livoh. 

with  his  failing  strength  to  roam  over  the 
world,  he  thought  of  gathering  in  his  own  surroundings 
a  sort  of  pictorial  history  of  the  genius  of  each  race  and 
the  national  monuments  of  every  land.  Artists  travelled 
at  his  bidding,  and  plied  their  tools,  and  reproduced  in 
marble  and  in  bronze  the  memories  of  a  lifetime  and  the 
work^  of  all  the  ages.  A  great  museum  was  laid  out  under 
the  open  sky,  bounded  by  a  ring  fence  of  some  ten  miles 


70  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

in  circuit;  within  it  the  old  historic  names  were  heard 
again,  but  in  strange  fellowship,  as  the  most  diverse 
periods  of  art  and  thought  joined  hands  as  it  were  to 
suit  the  Emperor's  fancy.  The  parks  and  avenues  were 
peopled  with  statues  which  seemed  to  have  just  left  the 
hands  of  Phidias  or  Polycletus  or  many  an  artist  of 
renown. 

There  was  the  Academy  linked  in  memory  for  ever  to 
the  name  of  Plato  :  there  the  Lyceum  where  his  scholar 
and  his  rival  lectured,  and  the  Porch  which  gave  its 
name  to  the  doctors  of  the  Stoic  creed,  and  the  Prytane- 
um  or  Guildhall,  the  centre  of  the  civic  life  of  Athens. 
Not  far  away  were  imaged  forth  in  mimic  forms  the  cool 
retreats  of  Tempe,  while  the  waters  of  a  neighbouring 
valley  bore  the  votaries  along-  to  what  seemed  the  tern- 

■J  *_> 

pie  of  Serapis  at  Canopus.  Not  content  with  the  solid 
realities  of  earth,  he  found  room  also  for  the  shadowy 
forms  of  the  unseen  world.  The  scenes  of  Hades  were 
pourtrayed  as  borrowed  from  the  poet's  fancy,  or  as 
represented  in  dramatic  shapes  in  the  Eleusinian  mys- 
teries. In  the  settings  of  these  pictures  a  large  eclectic 
taste  gave  itself  free  liberty  of  choice.  The  arts  of  Greece, 
of  Egypt,  and  of  Asia  yielded  up  their  stores  at  the  bid- 
ding of  a  connoisseur  who  saw  an  interest  or  a  beauty  in 
them  all. 

The  famous  gardens  are  now  a  wilderness  of  ruins, 
full  of  weird  suggestions  of  the  past,  over  which  a  teem- 
ing nature  has  flung  her  luxuriant  festoons  to  deck  the 
fairy  land  of  fancy;  but  they  have  served  for  centuries 
as  a  mine  which  the  curious  might  explore,  and  the  art 
galleries  of  Europe  owe  many  of  their  bronzes,  marbles, 
and  mosaics  to  the  industry  and  skill  once  summoned 
to  adorn  Hadrian's  panorama  of  the  history  of  civilized 
progress.     Among  these  the  various  statues  of  Antinous 


1 1 7—138.  Hadrian.  7 1 

are  of  most  interest,  partly  as  they  show  the  methods  of 
ideal  treatment  then  in  vogue,  and  the  amount  of  crea- 
tive power  which  still  remained,  but  partly  also  as  the 
symptoms  of  the  infatuation  of  a  prince  who  could  find 
no  worthier  subjects  for  the  artists  of  his  day  than  the 
sensuous  beauty  of  a  Bithynian  shepherd. 

At  this  time  indeed  his  finest  faculties  of  mind  were 
failing,  and  his  death  was  drawing  nigh.     He  was  seized 
by  a  painful   and  hopeless  malady,  and  it 
was  time  to  think  of  choosing  his   succes-       disease  he 
sor.      But  at  first   he    could    not   bear   the       chose,  for 

hi  succes- 

thought  of  anyone  preparing  to  step  into  sor,  Verus, 
his  place,  and  his  jealousy  was  fatal  to  the 
men  who  were  pointed  out  by  natural  claims  or  by  the 
people's  favour.  After  a  time  he  singled  out  a  ceitain 
CElius  Verus,  who  had  showy  accomplishments,  a 
graceful  carriage,  and  an  air  of  culture  and  refinement. 
But  he  was  thought  to  be  a  sensual,  selfish  trifler,  with 
little  trace  of  the  manly  hardihood  of  Hadrian  in  his 
best  days  ;  and  few  eyes,  save  the  Emperor's,  could  see 
his  merits.  The  world  was  spared  the  chances  of  a  pos- 
sible Nero  in  the  future ;  the  Emperor  himself  soon 
found,  to  use  his  own  words,  "that  he  was  leaning  on  a 
tottering  wall,"  and  that  the  great  sums  spent  in  dona- 
tives to  the  soldiers  upon  the  adoption  of  the  new-made 
Caesar  were  a  pure  loss  to  his  treasury.     The 

who  died 

young  man  s  health  was  failing  rapidly  ;  he  soon  after, 

had  not  even  strength  to  make  his  compli- 
mentary speech  before  the  Senate,  and  the  dose  which 
he  took  to  stimulate  his  nerves  was  too  potent  for  his 
feeble  system,  and  hurried  the    weakling  to  the  grave 
before  he  had  time  to  mount  the  throne. 

Once  more  the  old  embarrassment  of  choice  recurred, 
but  this  time  with  a  happier  issue.     By  a  lucky  accident 


72  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

one  day,  we  read,  the  Emperor's  eye  fell  on 
Amon.nus  Titus  Aurelius  Antoninus  as  he  came  into 

was  a  o  ted      the  senate  house  supporting1  the  weakness 

in  his  place. 

of  his  aged  father-in-law  with  his  strong  arm. 
He  had  passed  with  unstained  honour  through  the  round 
of  the  offices  of  state,  had  taken  rank  in  the  council 
chamber  of  the  prince,  where  his  voice  was  always  raised 
in  the  interest  of  mercy.  All  knew  his  worth,  and  gladly 
hailed  the  choice  when  the  Emperor's  mantle  fell  upon 
his  shoulders  ;  the  formal  act  of  adoption  once  com- 
pleted, they  could  wait  now  with  lighter  hearts  till  th< 
last  scenes  of  Hadrian's  life  were  over. 

The  Prince's  sun  was  setting  fast  in  lurid  cloud. 
Disease  was  tightening  its  hold  upon  him,  and  bringing 
u  ,.    ,  with    it    a   lingering   agony  of  torment,    in 

Hadrian  s  .  ■. 

dying  which    his  strong  reason  wholly  lost  its  bal- 

ag.iny  and  ,  ,        _ 

fitful  moods  ance,  and  gave  way  to  the  fitful  moods  of  a 
of  cruelty.  delirious    frenzy.      Now   he  was  a  prey  to 

wild  suspicions,  and  was  haunted  by  a  mania  for  blood- 
shed ;  now  he  tried  to  obtain  relief  by  magic  arts  and 
incantations  ;  and  at  last  in  his  supreme  despair  he  re- 
solved to  die.  But  his  physician  would  not  give  him  the 
fatal  potion  which  he  called  for  ;  his  servants  shrank  in 
terror  from  the  thought  of  dealing  the  blow  which  would 
rid  him  of  his  pains,  and  stole  out  of  his  grasp  the  dag- 
ger which  he  tried  to  use.  In  vain  he  begged  them  to 
cut  short  his  sufferings  in  mercy.  The  filial  piety  of 
Antoninus  watched  over  his  bedside  and  stayed  his 
hand  when  it  was  raised  to  strike  himself,  as  he  had  al- 
ready hid  from  his  sight  the  objects  of  his  murderous 
suspicions.  But  the  memory  of  Servianus,  whom  he 
had  slain  but  lately,  haunted  in  nightmare  shapes  the 
conscience  of  the  stricken  sufferer  with  the  words  which 
the  victim  uttered  at  the  last : — '   I  am  to  die  though  in- 


iii.'i  7-138.  Hadrian.  73 

shnocent;  may  the  gcds  give  to  Hadrian  the  wish  to  die, 
a  without' the  power."  He  had  also  lucid  intervals  when 
c  his  thoughts  were  busy  upon  the  world  unknown  beyond 
the  grave,  and  the  scenes  that  were  pictured  for  him  in 
the  gardens  of  his  favoured  home  of  Tivoli.  Even  on 
his  deathbed  he  could  feel  the  poet's  love  for  tuneful 
phrase,  and  the  verses  are  still  left  to  us  which  were  ad- 
dressed by  him  to  his  soul,  which,  pale  and  cold  and 
naked,  would  soon  have  to  make  its  way  to  regions  all 
unknown,  with  none  of  its  whilom  gaiety  :— 

Animula.  vagula,  blandula, 
Hospes  comesque  corporis, 
Quae  nunc  abibis  in  loca, 
Pallidula,  rigida,  nudula, 
Nee  ut  soles  dabis  jocos. 

The  end  came   at  last  at  Baiae.     The  body  was  net 
brought  in  state  to  Rome,  for  the  capital  had  long  been 
weary  of  its  ruler.     It  forgot  the  justice  of 
his  earlier  years  and  the  breadth  of  his  im-         ^bSS?1 
perial  aims,   and  could  not   shake  off  the 
sense  of  terror  of  his  moribund  cruelty  and  frenzy.     The 
senators  were  minded  even  to  proscribe  his  memory  and 
annul  his  acts,  and  to  refuse  him   the  divine  honours 
which  had  been  given  with  such  an  easy  grace  to  men 
of  far  less  worth.     They  yielded  with  reluctance  to  the 
prayers  of  Antoninus,  and  dropped  an  official  veil  over 
the  memories  of  the  last  few  months,  influ- 
enced partly  by  their  joy  at  finding  that  the      aT\d  canoni- 
v:ctims  whom  they  had  mourned  were  living 
still,  but  far  more  out  of  respect  for  the  present  Emperor 
than  the  past.     Was  it  popular  caprice  or  a  higher  tone 
of  public   feeling,   owing   to    which,   Rome,   which  had 
borne  with  Caligula  and  regretted  Nero,  could  not  par- 


74  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a. id. 

don  the  last  morbid  excesses  of  a  ruler  who  for  one-andn 
twenty  years  had  given  the  world  the  blessings  of  secu-i 
rity  and  justice  ? 

Though  Hadrian  cared  little  for  state  parade  in  life, 
he  wished  to  be  lodged  royally  in  death.     The  mauso- 
leum of  Augustus  was  already  full;    he  re- 

The  mauso-  °  J  ' 

kum  of  solved  therefore  to  build  a  worthy  resting- 

place  for  himself  and  for  the  Caesars  yet  to 
come.  A  stately  bridge  across  the  Tiber,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Campus  Martius,  decked  with  a  row  of 
statues  on  each  side,  was  made  to  serve  as  a  road  of 
state  to  lead  to  the  great  tower  in  which  his  ashes  were 
to  lie.  Above  the  tower  stood  out  to  view  the  groups  of 
statuary  whose  beauty  moved  the  wonder  of  the  travel- 
lers of  later  days ;  within  was  a  sepulchral  cham- 
ber, in  a  niche  of  which  was  stored  the  urn  which 
contained  all  that  the  flames  had  left  of  Hadrian.  The 
tower  was  built  of  masonry  almost  as  solid  as  the  giant 
piles  of  Egypt,  and  with  the  bridge  it  has  outlived  the 
wreck  of  ages.  For  almost  a  century  it  served  only  to 
enshrine  the  dust  of  Emperors,  but  afterwards  it  was 
used  for  other  ends,  and  became  a  fortress,  a  papal  resi- 
dence, a  prison.  When  the  Goths  were  storming  Rome, 
the  tide  of  war  rolled  up  against  the  mausoleum,  and 
when  all  else  failed  the  statues  which  adorned  it  were 
torn  from  their  pedestals  by  the  besieged,  and  flung 
down  upon  their  enemies  below.  Some  few  were  found, 
long  centuries  after,  almost  unhurt  among  the  ruins,  and 
may  be  still  seen  in  the  great  galleries  of  Europe.  The 
works  of  art  have  disappeared  with  the  gates  of  bronze 
and  with  the  lining  of  rich  marble  which  covered  it  with- 
in, and  after  ages  have  done  little  to  it  save  to  replace 
the  triumphal  statue  of  the  builder  with  the  figure  of  the 
Archangel   Michael,    whom   a  Pope   saw   in   his  vision 


ji  1 7— 13S.  Hadrian.  75 

sheathing  his  sword  in  token  that  the  plague  was  stayed 
above  the  old  tower  that  has  since  been  called  the  castle 
of  St.  Angelo. 

The  policy  of  Hadrian  was  one  of  peace  ;  through   a 'J 
his  wide  dominions  a  generation  had  grown 
up  which   scarcely  knew  the   crash  of  war-       wi011!,* 
One  race  only,  the  Jewish,  would  not  rest.       Palatine, 

.        .        ,  A.  D.  I32. 

but  rose  again  111  fierce  revolt.  The  hopes 
of  the  nation  had  seemingly  been  crushed  forever  by  tlu 
harsh  hand  of  Titus  ;  the  generals  of  Trajan  piti- 
lessly stifled  its  vindictive  passion  that  had  burst  ou* 
afresh  in  Africa  and  Cyprus.  It  had  seen  in  Palestine  the 
iron  force  of  Roman  discipline,  and  the  outcasts  in  every 
land  had  learned  how  enormous  was  the  empire  and  how 
irresistible  its  powei.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  they  flung 
themselves  once  more  in  blind  fury  on  their  masters,  and 
refused  to  despair  or  to  submit.  They  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  colonists  were  planted  among  the  ruins  of 
their  Holy  City  ;  that  heathen  temples  should  be  built  in 
spots  so  full  to  them  of  sacred  memories,  or  that  the  old 
sound  of  Jerusalem  should  be  displaced  in  favour  of  the 
rrotley  combination  of  /Elia  Capitolina,  to  which  both 
the  Emperor  and  the  chief  god  of  Rome  lent  each  their 
quota.  They  nursed  their  wrath  till  Hadrian's  back  was 
turned,  and  the  bulk  of  the  legions  far  away  ;  then  at 
last  the  fire  blazed  out  again,  and  wrapped  all  Palestine 
in  flames.  A  would-be-Messiah  showed  himself  among 
them,  taking  the  title  of  Barchochebas,  after  the  star 
whose  rising  they  had  waited  for  so  long.  The  multitudes 
flocked  eagerly  around  his  banner,  and  Akiba,  the  great 
rabbi,  lent  him  the  sanction  of  his  venerated  name. 
The  patriot  armies  needed  weapons,  but  the  Jewish 
smiths  had  bungled  purposely  in  working  for  the  Roman 
soldiers,  that  the  cast-off  arms  might  be  left  upoi*   their 


76  The  Age  of  the  Anionines.  A.d. 

hands.  The  dismantled  fortresses  were  speedily  rebuilt, 
the  walls  which  Titus  ruined  rose  afresh,  and  secret  pass- 
ages and  galleries  were  constructed  under  the  strong- 
holds that  the  garrisons  might  find  ingress  and  egress  as 
they  pleased.  They  would  not  meet  the  legions  in  the 
field,  but  tried  to  distract  their  energy  by  multitudinous 
warfare.  The  revolt,  despised  at  first,  soon  grew  to  such 
a  height  as  to  call  for  the  best  general  of  the  empire  and 
all  the  discipline  of  her  armies.     Julius  Sev- 

was  at  last  . 

terribly  erus  was   brought    from    distant    Britain  to 

stampe  ou  .  ^rive  the  fanatics  to  bay  and  to  crush  them 
with  his  overwhelming  forces.  One  stronghold  after 
another  fell,  though  stubbornly  defended,  till  the  fiercest 
of  the  zealots  intrenched  themselves  in  their  despair  at 
Bether,  and  yielded  only  to  the  last  extremities  of 
famine.  The  war  was  closed  after  untold  misery  and 
bloodshed,  and  even  the  official  bulletins  avowed  in  their 
ominous  change  of  style  how  great  was  the  loss  of 
Roman  life. 

All  that  had  been  left  of  the  Holy  City  of  the  Jews 
was  swept  away,  and  local  memories  were  quite  effaced. 
New  settlers  took  the  place  of  the  old  people ;  statues  of 
the  Emperor  marked  the  site  where  the  old  Temple 
stood;  and  the  spots  dear  to  Christian  pilgrims  were  be- 
fouled and  hid  away  from  sight  by  a  building  raised  in 
honour  of  mere  carnal  passion.  The  Jews  might  never 
wander  more  in  the  old  city  of  their  fathers.  Once  only 
in  the"  year  were  they  allowed,  on  the  anniversary  of  the 
destruction  of  their  temple,  to  stand  awhile  within  the 
holy  precincts  and  kiss  a  fragment  of  the  venerable  ruin, 
and  mourn  over  the  hopeless  desolation  of  their  land. 
Even  this  privilege,  says  Jerome,  they  dearly  bought, 
for  a  price  was  set  by  their  masters  on  their  tears,  as 
they  had  set  their  price  of  old  upon  the  blood  of  Jesus. 


138-161.  Antoninus  Pius.  jj 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ANTONINUS  PIUS.      A.  D.    I38-161. 

The  ancient  writer  who  tells  us  most  of  Antoninus  twice 
compares  him  with  the  legendary  Numa  whose  reign 
appears  in  the  romance  of  early  Roman  his- 
tory as  the  golden  age  of  peace  and  equity,       The  r^ign  of 

J  f  .  .  Antoninus 

when  men  lived  nearest  in  communion  with  w.  s  un- 
heaven.  As  in  that  dreamland  of  olden 
fancy  the  outlines  are  all  faint  and  indistinct  from  want 
of  stirring  adventure  or  excitement,  so  now  it  might 
seem  as  if  the  happiness  of  the  world  were  too  com- 
plete to  let  it  care  either  to  make  history  or  to  write  it. 
For  the  new  sovereign  was  no  Trajan,  happiest  when  on 
the  march  and  proud  of  his  prowess  in  the  field ;  he 
was  not  brilliant  and  versatile  like  Hadrian,  bent  on  ex- 
ploring every  land  in  person  and  exhausting  all  the 
experience  of  his  age.  His  life  as  Emperor  was  passion- 
less and  uneventful,  and  history,  wearied  of  unbroken 
eulogy,  has  soon  dropped  her  curtain  upon  the  govern- 
ment of  a  prince  who  shunned  parade  and  high  ambi- 
tion, and  was  content  to  secure  the  welfare  of  his  people. 
To  describe  him,  the  popular  fancy  chose 
the  name  of  Pius,  as  Vergil  called  the  hero      Why  called 

&  Pius. 

of  his  epic,  though  not  perhaps  with  the 
same  shade  of  meaning.  The  Romans  meant  by  piety 
the  scrupulous  conscience  and  the  loving  heart  which 
are  careless  of  no  claims  upon  them,  and  leave  no  task 
of  duty  unfulfilled.  They  used  it  for  the  reverence  for 
the  unseen  world  and  the  mystic  fervour  of  devotion  ; 
but  oftener  far  for  the  quiet  unobtrusive  virtues  of  bro- 


78  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

ther,  child,  or  friend.  In  the  case  of  Antoninus  other 
reasons  were  not  wanting  to  justify  the  title,  but  above 
all,  it  seemed  a  fitting  name  for  the  tenderness  with 
which  he  watched  over  Hadrian's  bed  of  sickness,  refu- 
sing to  let  him  cut  short  his  pains  and  his  despair,  or 
stain  his  memory  with  the  blood  of  guiltless  victims ; 
and  when  death  came  at  last  to  the  sufferer's  relief,  he 
would  not  rest  till  he  wrung  from  the  unwilling  Senate 
the  vote  which  raised  the  departed  Emperor  to  the  rank 
of  godhead.  But  he  had  spent  the  same  loving  care,  it 
seems,  already  on  many  of  his  kinsmen,  had  given 
loans  on  easy  terms  to  friends  and  neighbours,  and 
showed  to  all  a  gentle  courtesy  which  never  failed.  A 
character  so  kindly  could  not  look  with  un- 
His  chanty       concern    upon    the    endowments    for    poor 

was  tender,  r  x 

children  which  Trajan's  charity  had  found- 
ed. He  enlarged  their  number,  and  called  the  girls 
whom  he  reared  at  his  expense,  after  the  name  of  his 
own  wife,  Faustina. 

But  there  was  no  weakness,  no  extravagance  in  this 
good  nature.  His  household  servants,  the  officials  of 
the  court,  who  had  counted  perhaps  on  his  indulgence, 
found  to  their  surprise  that  his  favour  was  no  royal  road 
to  wealth.  There  was  no  golden  harvest  to  be  reaped 
from  fees  and  perquisites  and  bribes  in  the  service  of  a 
master  who  had  a  word  and  ear  for  all  who  came  to 
see  him,  but  made  no  special  favourites,  and  had  a  per- 
fect horror  of  rich  sinecures  as  a  cruel  tax  upon  the  en- 
durance of  his  people.  Nor  did  he,  like 
yet  free  from      earlier  monarchs,  use  his  patronage  to  win 

weakness.  r  ° 

the  loyalty  of  more  adherents.  The  offices 
of  state  in  the  old  days  of  the  republic  had  passed  rapidly 
from  hand  to  hand,  to  satisfy  the  ambition  of  the  ruling 
classes;  the  first  Emperors  gave  the  consulship  for  a  few 


138-161.  Antoninus  Pius.  79 

months  only  to  please  men's  vanity  with  the  unsubstan- 
tial honour,  and  rarely  kept  provincial  governors  long  at 
the  same  post.  But  Antoninus  had  no  love  of  change  ; 
he.  retained  in  office  the  ministers  whom  Hadrian  had 
named,  and  seldom  displaced  the  men  who  had  proved 
their  capacity  to  rub.  In  this  he  had  chiefly  the  public 
interest  in  view,  for  he  called  his  agents  sharply  to  ac- 
count if  they  were  grasping  or  oppressive  ;  he  tried  to 
lighten  the  burden  of  taxation,  and  would  not  even 
travel  abroad  for  fear  that  the  calls  of  hospi- 
tality towards  his  train  might  be  burden-  ^Ix 
some  to  the  lands  through  which  it  passed.    abroad.  bu* 

0  r  was  careful 

Yet  though  the  provincials   never  saw   him    of  provincial 

interests 

in  their  midst,  they  felt  the  tokens  of  his 
watchful  care.  He  was  ready  to  grant  an  audience  to 
every  deputation  ;  his  ear  was  open  to  all  the  cries  for 
succour  or  redress;  he  seemed  quite  familiar  with  the 
ways  and  means  of  all  the  country  towns,  and  with  the 
chief  expenses  which  they  had  to  meet.  Had  any  grave 
disaster  from  fire  or  earthquake  scourged  their  neighbour- 
hood, the  Emperor  was  prompt  with  words  of  condolence 
and  acts  of  sjrace.  He  was  not  ostentatious  in  his  boun- 
ty,  for  he  knew  that  to  give  freely  to  the  favoured  he 
must  take  largely  from  the  rest;  and  in  the  imperial 
budget  of  those  times  there  was  no  wide  margin  for  his 
.personal  pleasures.  In  earlier  days,  indeed,  he  had 
readily  received  the  family  estates  bequeathed  to  him  by 
the  kinsmen  who  had  prized  his  dutiful 
affection,  but  now  he  would  take  no  leeacv    and  econo- 

m  1  c  3.1 

save  from  the  childless,  and  discouraged  the 
morbid  whim  of  those  who    used  his   name   to  gratifv 
some  spleen  against  their  natural  heirs.     The  eagerness 
of  fiscal  agents  and  informers  died  away,  and  the  dreaded 
name  of  treason  was  seldom,  if  ever,  heard. 


80  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

It  is  natural  to  read  that  fat   and  wide  the  provinces 

were  prosperous  and  contented  with  a  prince  who  ruled 

them  quietly  and  firmly,  who  had  no  hank- 
though  .        A 

wars  were  ering  after  military  laurels,  but  liked   to  say 

neediul.  ..'....  .  ,  .  . 

with  bcipio  that  he  would  rather  save  a  sin- 
gle fellow-countryman  than  slay  a  thousand  of  the  enemy. 
Yet  his  reign  was  not  one  of  unbroken  peace,  like  that  ot 

fabled  Numa.  The  Moors  and  the  Britons 
Moorish  and  thp  untamed  races    of  the  Rhine  and 

and  Dacian 

war  pro-  Danube  tasked  the  skill  and  patience  of  his 

a.d.  139.  generals,    and    the   Jews    even,    hopelessly 

War  with  crushed  as   they    had    seemed  to  be,  flung 

Brigantes,  themselves  once  more  with  ineffectual  fury 

A.D.   14O-145.  ,  ■* 

on  the  legions.  But  in  the  main  the  influ- 
ence of  Rome  was  spread  by  wise  diplomacy  rather  than 
with    the    sword.     The    neighbouring    potentates    saw 

Hadrian's   machinery    of  war  standing    in 

He  gained  ....  .      .      , 

more  by  strong  and  burnished  trim  upon  their  bor- 

ip  omacy.  ders,  and  had  no  mind  to  try  its  force,  while 
the  gentle  courtesies  of  Antoninus  came  with  a  better 
grace  from  one  who  could  wield,  if  need  be,  such  thun- 
derbolts of  battle.  So  kings  and  chieftains  sought  his 
friendship.  Some  came  to  Rome  from  the  far  East  to  do 
him  honour.  Others  at  a  word  or  sign  stopped  short  in 
the  career  of  their  ambition,  appealed  to  him  to  be  um- 
pire in  their  quarrels,  or  renounced  the  aims  which 
threatened  to  cross  his  will.  For  in  the  interests  of  the 
empire  he  would  not  part  with  the  reality  of  power, 
though  he  cared  little  for  the  show  of  glory  ;  he  grasped 
the  substance,  but  despised  the  shadow. 

This  is  well  nigh  all  we  read  about  the  ruler.  It  is 
time  to  turn  to  the  pictures  of  the  man,  in  the  quiet  of  the 
home  circle  and  in  the  simplicity  of  rural  life.  His 
family  on  the  father's  side  had  lorg  resided  at  Nemausus 


1 3  8- 1 6 1 .  Antoninus  Pius.  8 1 

(Nismes),  in  the  Romanised  Provincia  (Provence),  but 
he  chose  for  his  favourite  resort  in  time  of  leisure  his 
country  seat  at  Lorium  in  Etruria.     There       __.    , 

His    homely 

he  had  passed  the  happy  years  of  child-  Hie  at 
hood ;  and  though  often  called  away  to  the 
dignities  of  office  in  which  father  and  ancestors  had  gone 
before  him,  he  had  gladly  returned  thither  as  often  as  he 
could  lay  aside  his  cares.  There,  too,  as  Emperor,  he 
retired  from  the  business  and  bustle  of  the  city,  put  off 
awhile  the  purple  robe  of  state,  and  dressed  himself  in 
the  simple  homespun  of  his  native  village.  In  that  re- 
treat no  tedious  ceremonies  disturbed  his  peace,  no 
weariness  of  early  greetings,  no  long  debates  in  privy 
council  or  in  judgment  hall;  but  in  their  stead  were  the 
homely  interest  of  the  farm  and  vintage,  varied  only  by 
a  rustic  merry-making  or  the  pleasures  of  the  chase.  It 
was  such  a  life  as  Curius  or  Cato  lived  of  old,  before  the 
country  was  deserted  for  the  towns,  or  slave-labour  on 
the  large  estates  took  the  place  of  native  yeomen,  though 
the  rude  austerity  of  ancient  manners  was  tempered  by 
a  genial  refinement  which  was  no  natural  growth  upon 
the  soil  of  Italy.  In  the  memoirs  of  his  adopted  son, 
who  was  one  day  to  succeed  him,  we  find  a  pleasant 
picture  of  the  surroundings  of  the  prince,  of  the  easy 
tone  and  unaffected  gaiety  of  the  intercourse  in  his  home 
circle,  where  all  the  etiquette  of  courts  was  laid  aside, 
and  every  neighbour  found  a  hearty  welcome. 

The  Emperor  stood    little  on  his    dignity,  and  could 
waive  easily  enough  the  claims  of  rank,  could  take  in 
good  part  a  friendly  jest,  or  even  at  times  a 
rude  retort.     In  the  house  of  an  acquaint-  ?emper,Sy 

ance  he  was  one  day  looking  at  some  por- 
phyry columns  which  he  fancied,  and  asking  where  his 
host  had   bought   them,  but  was   unceremoniously  told 


32  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  A.D. 

that  under  a  friend's  roof  a  guest  should  know  how  to  be 
both  deaf  and  dumb  in  season.  Such  airs  disturbed  him 
little,  at  times  served  only  to  amuse  him,  as  when  Apol- 
lonius  came  from  Colchis  to  teach  philosophy  to  the 
young  Marcus  at  the  invitation  of  the  prince,  but  de- 
clined to  call  upon  him  when  he  came  to  Rome,  saying 
that  the  pupil  should  wait  upon  the  master,  not  the  mas- 
ter on  the  pupil.  Antoninus  only  laughed  at  his  preten- 
tiousness, and  said  that  it  was  easier  seemingly  to  come 
all  the  way  from  Colchis  than  to  walk  across  the  street 
at  Rome.  Long  before,  when  he  was  governor  of  Asia, 
and  had  visited  Smyrna  in  the  course  of  a  judicial  cir- 
cuit, he  was  quartered  by  the  magistrates  in 

which  readily  .  .  .  . 

forgave  a  the  mansion  of  the  sophist    Polemon,  who 

s  1§  l'  was  away  upon  a  journey  at  the  time.     At 

the  dead  of  night  the  master  of  the  house  came  home, 
and  knocked  with  impatience  at  the  doors,  and  would 
not  be  pacified  till  he  had  the  place  entirely  to  himself, 
and  had  closed  the  doors  upon  his  unbidden  guest.  The 
great  man  took  the  insult  quietly  enough,  and  when, 
years  afterwards,  the  sophist  came  to  Rome  to  show  off 
his  powers  of  eloquence,  the  Emperor  welcomed  him  to 
court  without  any  show  of  rancour  at  the  past,  only  tell- 
ing his  own  servants  to  be  careful  not  to  turn  the  door 
upon  him  when  he  called.  And  when  an  actor  came 
with  a  complaint  that  Polemon,  as  stage  director,  had 
dismissed  him  without  warning  from  a  company  of  play- 
ers, he  only  asked  what  time  it  was  when  he  was  so 
abruptly  turned  away.  "  Midday !'' was  the  complain- 
ant's answer.  "He  thrust  me  out  at  midnight!"  said 
the  prince,  "and  1  lodged  no  appeal!" 

It  was  the  charm  and  merit  of  hi?  character  that  he 
was  so  natural  in  all  he  said  and  did,  and  disliked  con- 
ventional and  affected  manners.      His  young  heir  was 


Ij8~i6i.  Antoninus  Pius,  83 

warm  and  tender-hearted,  and  would  not  be  comforted 
when  he  had  lost  his  tutor.  The  servants  of  the  court, 
quite  shocked  at  what  seemed  an  outburst 

^  .  His  tender 

of  such  vulgar  gnef,  urged  him  to  consult  care  of  his 
his  dignity  and  curb  his  feelings,  but  the  a  opu  ,on' 
Emperor  silenced  them  and  said:  "  Let  the  tears  flow  ; 
neither  philosophy  nor  rank  need  stifle  the  affections  of 
the  heart."  Happily,  he  was  himself  rewarded  by  the 
tenderness  which  he  respected  in  its  love  for  others.  He 
had  adopted  his  nephew  long  ago  by  Hadrian's  wish, 
had  married  him  to  his  own  daughter,  and  watched  his 
career  with  anxious  care.  The  character  thus  formed 
under  his  eye  was  dutiful  and  loyal  to  the  last.  For 
many  a  year  the  young  man  was  near  him  always,  night 
and  day  storing  in  his  memory  lessons  of  statecraft  and 
experience,  taking  in  his  pliant  temper  the  impression  of 
the  stronger  will,  and  preparing  to  receive  the  burdens 
of  state  upon  his  shoulder  when  the  old  man  was  forced 
to  lay  them  down. 

At  length  the  time  was  come,  and  Antoninus  felt  that 
the  end  was  near.     He  had  only  strength  to 

1  j    <-\  to  whom  he 

say  a  few  last  words,  to  commend  the  em-  ieft  the  empira 
pire  and  his  daughter  to  the  care  of  his  ^Dhi^ath' 
successor,  to  bid  his  servants  move  into  the 
chamber  of  his  son  the  golden  statuette  of  Fortune  which 
had  stood  always  near  his  bed,  and  to  give  the  watch- 
word for  the  last  time  to  the  officer  on  guard,  before  lie 
passed  away  after  three-and-twenty  years  of  rule.  The 
word  he  chose  was  "Equanimity,'  and  it  may  serve  as 
a  fitting  symbol  for  the  calm  and  balanced  temper,  which 
was  gentle  yet  firm,  and  homely  yet  with  perfect  dignity. 
History  has  dealt  kindly  with  the  good  old  man,  for  it 
has  let  his  faults  fall  quite  into  the  shade,  till  they  have 
passed  away  from  memory,  and  we  know  him  only  as 


84  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  A.D, 

the  unselfish  ruler,  who  was  rich  at  his  accession,  but 
told  his  wife  that  when  he  took  the  empire  he  must  give 
up  all  besides,  who  preferred  to  repair  the  monuments  of 
others  rather  than  to  build  new  ones  of  his  own,  and, 
prince  as  he  was,  recurred  fondly  ia  his  medals  to  the 
memories  of  the  old  republic.  No  great  deeds  are  told 
of  him,  save  this  perhaps  the  greatest,  that  he  secured 
the  love  and  happiness  of  those  he  ruled. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS.      A.D.    I47-180. 

Plato  had  written  long  ago  that  there  could  be  no  per- 
fect government  on  earth  till  philosophy  was  seated  on 
the  throne.    The  fancy  was  to  be  realised  at 
T^  eAarly,.llfe    last  in  the  person  of  the  second  of  theAnto- 

of  M.  Aurehus.  v 

nines,  for  the  whole  civilized  world  was  in 
the  hands  of  one  who  in  the  search  for  truth  had  sat  at 
the  feet  of  all  the  sages  of  his  day,  and  left  no  source  of 
ancient  wisdom  unexplored.  M.  Annius  Verus,  for  such 
was  the  name  he  bore  at  first,  came  of  a  family  which 
had  long  been  settled  in  the  south  of  Spain,  and  thence 
summoned  to  the  capital  to  fill  the  highest  offices  of 
state.  Left  fatherless  in  infancy,  he  had  been  tenderly 
cared  for  by  his  grandfather,  and  early  caught  the  fancy 
of  the  Emperor  Hadrian,  who,  because  of  the  frank 
candour  of  his  childish  ways  called  him  playfully  Veris- 
simus,  a  name  which  he  liked  well  enough  in  later  years 
to  have  it  put  even  at  times  upon  the  coins  struck  in  his 
mints.  At  the  early  age  of  eight  he  was  promoted  to  a 
place  among  the  Salii,  the  priests  of  Mars,  recruited  com- 
monly from  the  oldest  of  the  patrician  families  at  Rome. 


i47-I8o.      Marcus  Aure litis  Antoninus.  85 

With  them  he  learned  to  make  the  stated  round  in  pub- 
lic through  the  city  with  the  shields  which  fell  of  yore 
from  heaven,  to  join  in  the  old  dances  and  the  venerable 
litany,  to  which,  among  much  that  had  almost  lost  its 
meaning  to  their  ears,  new  lines  were  added  now  and 
then,  in  honour  of  the  rulers  lately  deified.  When  they 
flung  their  flowers  together  on  the  statue  of  the  god,  his 
was  the  only  garland  which  lighted  on  the  sacred  head, 
and  young  as  he  was  he  took  the  lead  of  all  the  rest, 
and  knew  by  heart  all  tire  hymns  to  be  recited.  He 
grew  apace  in  the  sunshine  of  court  favour,  and  no  pains 
were  spared  at  home  meantime  to  fit  him  for  high  sta- 
tion, for  the  greatest  of  the  teachers  of  his  day  took  part 
in  his  instruction. 

Of  these  Fronto  was  one  of  the  most  famous.  By  a 
lucky  accident,  not  many  years  ago,  the  letters  which 
passed   between  him  and  his  young  pupil    „. 

.His  corres- 

were  found  in  an  old  manuscript,  over  the  pondence 
fading  characters  of  which  another  work  had  his  old  tutor, 
been  written  at  a  later  date,  in  accordance 
with  a  custom  which  has  saved  for  us  many  a  pious 
homily  at  the  expense  of  classic  lore.  There  is  much  of 
pedantry  and  affectation  in  the  style,  and  professor  of 
rhetoric  as  Fronto  was,  he  could  not  teach  his  young 
charge  how  to  write  with  dignity  or  grace.  Yet  if  we 
look  below  the  poor  conceits  of  form  and  stilted  diction, 
we  shall  find  the  gush  of  warm  affections  welling  up  to 
give  beauty  to  the  boyish  letters.  There  is  a  genuine 
ring  about  the  endearing  epithets  which  he  lavishes 
upon  his  teacher,  and  a  trustfulness  with  which  he  counts 
upon  his  sympathy  in  all  his  passing  interests.  He 
writes  to  him  of  course  about  his  studies,  how  he  is  learn- 
ing Greek  and  hopes  one  day  to  rival  the  most  eloquent 
Hellenic   authors,  how  he  is  so  hard  at  work  as  to  have 


&6  The  Age  of  the  Anto nines.  a.i> 

made  extracts  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  from  sixty 
books  at  least,  but  playfully  relieves  his  fears  by  telling 
him  that  some  of  the  books  were  very  short.  And  then 
among  passages  of  pretentious  criticism,  which  make  us 
fear  that  he  is  growing  a  conceited  book-worm,  come 
others  of  a  lighter  vein,  which  show  that  he  has  not  lost 
his  natural  love  of  youthful  pranks.  One  day  he  writes 
in  glee  to  say  how  he  frightened  some  shepherds  on  the 
road  where  he  was  riding,  who  took  him  and  his  friends 
for  highway  robbers,  for,  seeing  how  suspiciously  they 
eyed  him,  he  charged  at  full  speed  upon  the  flock,  and 
only  scampered  off  again  when  they  stood  on  their  de- 
fence and  began  to  bandy  blows  with  crook  and  staff. 

But  happily  the  lad  had  other  masters  who 
sion  from  taught  him  something  better  than  the  quib- 

philosophy        ^es  an<^  subtleties  of  rhetoric.     Philosophy 

found  him  an  apt  pupil  at  a  tender  age,  and 
he  soon  caught  up  with  eagerness,  and  pushed  even  to 
excess,  the  lessons  of  hardihood  and  self-control.  He 
tried  to  put  his  principles  to  the  test  of  practice,  to  live 
simply  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  licence,  to  content  him- 
self with  frugal  fare,  and  to  take  the  bare  ground  for  his 
bed  at  night.  At  last  it  needed  all  his  mother's  gentle 
influence  to  curb  the  enthusiasm  of  his  ascetic  humour. 
The  old  professor  whom  he  loved  so  well  began  to  be 
jealous  of  such  rival  influence,  and  begged  him  not  to 
forsake  the  Muses  for  austerer  guides,  who  cared  little 
for  the  graces  of  fine  language,  but  seemed  to  think  it 
vain  and  worldly  to  dress  well  or  write  a  decent  style.  It 
was  indeed  no  petty  jealousy  of  a  narrow  heart,  for  the 
old  man  thought  sincerely  that  rhetoric  was  the  queen  of 

all  the  sciences  and  arts,  and  longed  to  see 
rfhFronto?USy     her   seated  on  the  throne.     He  wished   to 

see  his  pupil  famous,  and  could  think  of  no 


i47_I8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  87 

opportunities  so  good  as  the  one  which  imperial  elo- 
quence would  have  before  it.  To  lecture  his  subjects  on 
the  duty  of  man,  to  award  the  meed  of  praise  or  blame, 
co  animate  to  high  endeavours  in  well  turned  periods  and 
graceful  phrase — herein,  he  thought,  lay  the  greatness  of 
the  ruler's  work,  not  in  policy  or  law-making,  or  the 
rough  game  of  war.  The  interests  of  humanity  therefore 
were  at  stake,  not  personal  ambition  only,  or  the  credit 
of  his  favourite  study.  He  writes  to  say  that  he  had 
already  passed  many  a  sleepless  night,  in  which  he  was 
haunted  by  the  fear  that  he  had  culpably  neglected  to 
stimulate  the  progress  of  his  pupil.  He  had  not  guarded 
carefully  the  purity  of  his  growing  taste,  had  let  him  turn 
to  questionable  models;  but  henceforth  they  should  study 
the  g&and  style  together,  eschew  comedies  and  such 
meaner  moods  of  thought  and  language,  and  drink 
only  at  the  sources  which  were  undefiled. 

But  the  earnest  scholar  had  outgrown  his  master,  and 
even  then  was  full  of  serious  thoughts  about  great  ques- 
tions, of  "the  misgivings  of  a  creature  moving  about  in 
worlds  not  realised,"  and  was  not  to  be  moved  to  give 
them  up  for  canons    of  taste   and  rules  of      AT  ,.    T 

1  Medit.  I.    7. 

prosody.  He  gave  in  after  years  the  Stoic 
Rusticus  the  credit  of  his  conversion  from  letters  to 
philosophy.  "  It  was  he  who  made  me  feel  how  much  I 
needed  to  reform  and  train  my  character.  He  warned  me 
from  the  treacherous  paths  of  sophistry,  from  formal 
speeches  of  parade  which  aim  at  nothing  higher  than 
applause.  Thanks  to  him  I  am  weaned  from  rhetoric 
and  poetry,  from  affected  elegance  of  style,  and  can  write 
now  with  simplicity.  From  him  I  have  learned  to  con- 
centrate my  thoughts  on  serious  study,  and  nor  to  be 
surprised  into  agreeing  with  all  the  random  utterance  of 
fluent  speech." 


88  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

Other    influences   came    in    meantime    to   tempt  his 

thoughts  from   graver   themes.     Honours  and  dignities 

pursued  him  more  as  he  grew  careless  of 

Officesof  state    thdr  charms>     Already  at    fifteen  years  of 

age  he  was  made  prefect  of  the  city,  or  first  magistrate 
of  Rome,  when  the  consuls  were  away  to  keep  the  Latin 
holidays ;  he  was  betrothed  also  to  the  daughter  of  vElius 
Verus,  who  stood  nearest  to  the  imperial  succession,  and 
on  his  death  two  years  later  he  was,  at  the  express  wish 
of  Hadrian,  adopted  himself  byAntoninus,  who  was  raised 
into  the  vacant  place,  and  was  soon  to  be  left  in  undis- 
puted power.  In  accordance  with  the  Roman  practice, 
the  young  man  called  himself  after  the  Aurelian  family 
into  which  he  passed,  and  may  be  spoken  of  hencefor- 
ward as  Marcus  Aurelius,  the  name  by  which  history 
knows  him  best.  It  was  a  brilliant  prospect  that  opened 
now  before  his  eyes.  Titles  of  rank  and  offices  of  state 
followed  fast  upon  each  other ;  all  the  priestly  colleges 
were  glad  to  welcome  him  among  their  members;  in- 
scriptions in  his  honour  which  have  been  found  even  in 
far  off  Dacia  show  that  the  eyes  of  men  were 
fawur°PUlar  turnecl  on  tne  young  Caesar,  who  already 
bore  his  part  of  the  burdens  of  the  empire. 
They  soon  learned,  it  seems,  to  love  him,  and  to  hope 
fondly  of  his  youthful  promise.  The  popular  fancy  mul- 
tiplied  his   portraits,    and    an    eve-witness 

did    not    turn  ,  c      .  ,         -       ,  ,     ...  , 

the  head  of  speaks  of  the  rude  daubs  and  ill-carved 
prince"ng  statuettes  which  were  everywhere  exposed 
for  sale,  and  which,  in  the  shops  and  public 
taverns  and  over  the  tables  of  the  money-changers, 
showed  the  well-known  features  of  the  universal  fa- 
vourite. 

But  happily  the  incense  of  such  flattery  did  not  turn 
his  head  or  cloud  his  judgment.     Rather  it  seemed  to 


i47-I8o       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  89 

make  him  feel  more  deeply  the  responsibilities  of  high 
estate,  and  to  make  him  the  more  resolved  to  fill  it  wor- 
thily. The  sirens  of  the  court  had  tried  on  him  the 
witchery  of  their  wanton  charms,  and  the  home  life  of 
Hadrian,  which  he  shared  awhile,  had  brought  him  into 
somewhat  questionable  circles ;  but  his  mother  watched 
him  with  her  constant  care,  and  screened  the  purity  of 
his  growing  manhood — a  tender  service  for  which  he 
fondly  thanks  her  memory  in  later  years.  Attracted  by 
the  high  professions  of  the  Stoic  creed,  he  sought  the 
secret  of  a  noble  life  from  the  great  doctors  of  the  Porch, 
trusting  with  their  help  to  find  a  sure  guiding 
star  of  duty,   and  the  true  measure  of  all       who  looked 

J  to  the  Stoic 

earthly  grandeur.     Their  principles  indeed       creed  for 

iij  guidance, 

had  sometimes  been  austere  and  hard, 
counsels  of  perfection  scarcely  fitted  for  the  frail  and 
struggling,  coldly  disdainful  of  the  weakness  of  our  suf- 
fering manhood.  But  Marcus  Aurelius  was  too  gene- 
rous and  tender-hearted  to  nurse  such  a  lonely  pride  of 
philosophic  calm.  He  was  vigorous  in  questioning  his 
heart,  but  was  stern  only  to  himself. 

The  man  was  not  forgotten  in  the  student.  We  may 
still  read  in  the  familiar  letters  which  he  wrote  to  his  old 
friend  and  teacher  about  the  pleasant  days 

but    without 

he  spent  in  the  country  house  at  Lorium,       loss  often- 

how  he  dwells  fondly  on  the  infant  graces  of      family  affec- 

his  children,  and,  watches  with  anxious  care       ti0ns' 

the  course  of  every  little  ailment.     He  speaks  often  of 

his  little  nestlings,  and  forgets  his  graver  thoughts  while 

he  is  with  them.     "  The  weather  is  bad,  and 

I  feel  ill  at  ease,"  he  writes,  "  but  when  my       as  m?y  b.s 

'  '  J  seen  in  his 

little   girls  are  well,  it  seems  that  my  own       letter*  to 

,.    ..    ,  .    .  .  Fronto, 

pains  are  of  slight  moment,  and  the  weather 

is  quite   fair."     Fronto  enters  readily  enough  into  the 


go  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ad. 

same  vein  of  homely  sentiment,  sends  his  loving  greet- 
ing to  the  young  princesses,  "  kisses  their  fat  little  toes 
and  tiny  hands,"  and  dwells  complacently  upon  the 
simple  happiness  of  the  prince's  circle.  "  I  have  seen 
your  little  ones,'"  he  writes,  "and  no  sight  could  have 
been  more  charming  to  me,  for  they  are  so  like  you  in 
face  that  nothing  could  be  more  striking  than  the  like- 
ness. I  was  well  rewarded  for  my  pains  in  journeying 
to  Lorium,  for  the  slippery  road  and  rough  ascent ;  for 
I  had  two  copies  of  yourself  beside  me,  and  both  happily 
were  strong  of  voice,  and  had  the  look  of  health  upon 
their  faces.  One  held  a  morsel  of  fine  white  bread  in 
his  hands,  such  as  a  king's  son  might  eat,  the  other  a 
hard  black  crust,  fit  for  the  child  of  a  philosopher.  In 
the  pleasant  prattle  of  their  little  voices  I  seemed  to  re- 
cognise already  the  clear  tones  of  your  harmonious 
speech." 

Fronto  had  learned,  it  seems,  to  jest  at  the  austerer 
studies  of  his  former  pupil,  but  he  disliked  them  still  as 
much  as  ever.  Philosophy  indeed  was  now  a  great  mo- 
ral force,  and  the  chief  teacher  of  the  heathen  world ; 
but  he  could  only  think  of  it  as  the  mere  wrangling  of 
pretentious  quibblers,  intent  only  on  hair  splitting  or 
fence  of  words,  and  with  no  power  to  guide  the  reason 
,     ,.,  or  to  touch  the  heart.     Prejudiced  and  one- 

who,  like  .  -iii 

Faustina,  sided  as  his   criticism   was,  it  had   perhaps 

liking"^  some  value  when  he  urged  the  future  sove- 

phiiosophers.  re\gn  to  remember  the  responsibilities  of 
high  estate,  and  the  difference  between  the  purple  of  the 
Caesars  and  the  coarse  mantle  of  the  Stoic  sages.  He 
had  also  a  powerful  ally  who  did  not  fail  to  use  her  in- 
fluence. Faustina,  the  mother  of  the  little  nestlings 
whom  Fronto  wrote  about  so  often,  was  affectionate  and 
tender  as  a  wife,  but  had  all  the  pride  of  birth  and  the 


i47"I8o.       Marcus  Aureiius  Antoninus.  91 

fastidious  refinement  of  the  fashionable  Roman  circles. 
She  had  little  liking  doubtless  for  the  uncourtly  doctors 
of  the  Porch,  with  their  philosophic  talk  about  equality 
and  rights  of  manhood,  grudged  them  their  influence 
v/ith  her  husband,  and  freely  spent  her  woman's  wit  in 
petulant  sally  or  in  mocking  jest.  The  sages  took  it 
somewhat  ill,  misjudging  her  levity  of  manner,  and  saw 
only  wantonness  or  vice  in  the  frank  gaiety  of  the  high- 
born dame.  Hence  among  the  earnest  thinkers,  or  in 
liteiary  circles,  harsh  sentiments  began  to  spread  about 
Faustina,  and  stamped  themselves  perhaps  in  ugly  me- 
mories on  the  page  of  formal  history. 

Thus  the  years    passed  by  in  serious  study  and  the 
cares  of  state,  relieved  by  the  tenderness  of  home  affec- 
tions; but  history  has  no  more  details  of  in- 
terest  to  give  us,  till   at  length  Antoninus    0fnAntoninus 
closed  his  long  reisrn  of  prosperous  calm,    \>e  shared  the 

0  °  r  r  imperial    pow- 

leaving  the  throne  to  his  adopted  son,  who    er  with  Lucius 

\Tcrus. 

was  already  partner  in  the  tribunician  power, 
the  most  expressive  of  the  imperial  honours.       Marcus 
Aureiius  might  now  have  stood  alone  without  a  rival,  if 
he  had  harboured  a  vulgar  ambition  in  his  soul.    But  he 
bethought  him  of  the  claims,  else  little  heeded,  of  Lucius 
Vcrus,  who  like  himself,  had  been  adopted,  at  Hadrian's 
wish,  by  the  late  Emperor,  and  had  grown  up  doubtless 
in  the  hopes  of  future  greatness.     He  was 
raised   also  to  the  throne,  and   Rome   saw- 
now,  for  the  first  time,  two  co-rulers  share  between  them 
on  an  equal  footing  aU  the  dignity  of  absolute  power. 

Their  accession  was  not  greeted    at   the   first   by  fair 
omens  of  prosperity  and  peace,  such  as   the  world  had 
now   enjoyed   for   many  years.      Soon    the    The  ominous 
bright  sky  was  overcast,  and  the  lowerinsr    Prospect;°f 

°  J  °     nooas  and  war, 

storms  began  to  burst.     First  the  Tiber  rose 


Q2  Ttu  Age  of  cite  Antoninec.  a.  d 

to  an  unprecedented  height,  till  the  flood  spread  over  all 
the  low  grounds  of  the  city,  with  fearful  loss  of  property 
and  life,  and  only  retired  at  length  to  leave  widespread 
ruin  and  famine  in  its  track.  Then  came  rumours  of 
danger  and  of  war  in  far-off  lands.  In  Britain  the 
troops  were  on  the  point  of  ribing  to  assert  their  liberty 
of  choice  and  to  raise  their  general  to  the  seat  of  em- 
pire. But  their  experienced  and  gallant  leader  would 
not  be  tempted  to  revolt,  and  the  soldiers  soon  returned 
to  their  allegiance,  while  their  favourite  was  recalled  to 
do  good  service  shortly  in  the  East.  On  the  northern 
borders  also  the  native  races  were  in  arms,  and  broke 
in  sudden  onset  through  the  Roman  lines,  and  a  soldier 
of  mark  had  to  be  sent  to  drive  them  back.  But  it  was 
on  the  Euphrates  that  the  danger  seemed 
™eEup&°s  most  pressing.  There  the  Parthians,  long 
was  most  "kent  in  check  by  the  memory  of  Trajan's 

pressing.  l  ... 

military  prowess,  and  by  the  skilful  policy 
of  his  successors,  challenged  once  more  the  arms  of 
Rome.  Years  ago  they  had  taken  offence,  it  seems,  be- 
cause a  ruler  had  been  chosen  for  the  dependent  king- 
dom of  Armenia,  which  had  been  the  debateable  ground 
for  ages  between  the  empires  of  the  East  and  of  the 
West.  For  awhile  the  war  had  been  averted  by  fair 
words  or  watchful  caution,  but  the  storm  burst  at  last  at 
an  unguarded  moment,  and  swept  over  the  border  lands 
with  unresisted  fury,  Armenia  fell  into  the  invaders* 
hands  almost  without  a  blow.  The  city  in  which  the 
Roman  general  stood  at  bay  was  taken  by  storm;  a 
whole  legion  cut  to  pieces;  and  Syria  was  laid  open 
to  the  conquerors,  who  pressed  on  to  ravage  and  to 
plunder. 

The  danger  wns  imminent  enough  to  call  for  the  pres 
ence  of  an  Emperor  in  the  field,  and  Verus  started  for 


i47_I8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  93 

the  East  to  rouse  the  soldiers'  courage  and 

.  Verus  starts 

organize  the  forces  of  defence.  With  him  for  the  East, 
or  before  him  went  skilled  advisers  to  direct 
the  plan  of  the  campaign,  chief  among  whom  was 
Avidius  Cassius,  a  leader  of  ancient  hardihood  and 
valour.  It  was  well  for  Roman  honour  that  resolute 
men  were  in  command;  for  the  soldiers  were  demoral- 
ized by  long  years  of  peace.  Sloth  and  self  indulgence 
in  the  Syrian  cities  had  proved  fatal  to  their 

where  the 

discipline;  and  profligate  Antioch,  above  soldiers  were 
all,  with  its  ill-famed  haunts  of  Daphne, 
had  unnerved  the  vigour  of  their  manhood.  They  cared 
little,  as  we  read,  that  their  horses  were  ill  groomed  and 
their  equipments  out  of  gear,  so  long  as  their  arms  were 
light  enough  to  be  borne  with  ease,  and  their  saddles 
stuffed  with  down. 

Verus,  the  general-in-chief,  was  worthy  of  such  troops. 
He  was  in  no  haste  to  reach  the  seat  of  war,  alarming 
as  were  the  tidings  which. each  fresh  courier  brought. 
He  lingered  in  the  south  of  Italy  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  the  chase,  and  dallied  amid  the  isles  of  Greece,  where 
all  his  interests  seemed  to  centre  in  the  charms  of  music 
and  of  song.  The  attractions  of  the  towns  upon  the 
coast  of  Asia  tempted  him  often  to  halt  upon  the  way, 
and  when  at  last  he  came  to  Antioch  he  stooped  so  low 
as  to  treat  for  peace  with  the  invader,  and  only  resolved 
to  prosecute  the  war  in  earnest  when  the  Parthians 
spurned  the  proffered  terms.  Even  then  he  had  no 
mind  to  take  the  field  in  person,  or  risk  the 

>       t-r       1  •  i     r  In  spite  of 

hazards  of  a  soldier  s  lite,  but  loitered  far       his  inca- 
behind,  safe  in  the  rear  of  all  the  fighting,       Hoth^hfa1 
and  gave  himself  up  without  reserve  to  fri-       generals 

°  r  made  the 

volous  gaieties  and  sensual  excess,  till  even       Parthians 

T      1  .  r       i  <-  1  sue  f°r 

indolent  natives  of  the   Syrian  towns  began       peace. 


94  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

to  scoff,  and  courtly  panegyrists  found  it  hard  to 
tfloss  over  his  slothful  incapacity  with  their  nattering 
phrases. 

But  hardier  troops  were  in  the  field  meantime  than 
the  licentious  garrison  of  Antioch.  The  armies  of  the 
distant  frontiers  sent  their  contingents  to  the  East,  and 
at  least  eight  legions  may  be  traced  in  the  campaigns 
that  followed,  besides  a  multitude  of  auxiliary  forces. 

Happily  there  were  also  skilful  generals  to  handle 
them  aright.  Statius  Priscus,  the  commander  who  had 
been  put  forward  by  his  men  against  his  will  as  a  pre- 
tender to  the  throne,  proved  his  loyalty  once  more  by 
his  successful  march  into  Armenia,  and  the  conquest  oi 
its  capital  Artaxata.  Avidius  Cassius  meantime,  with 
the  bulk  of  the  Roman  army,  pushed  on  direct  towards 
Parthia,  proved  his  valour  and  address  in  many  a  hard- 
fought  battle,  and  drove  back  the  beaten  enemy  at  last 
beyond  the  walls  of  Seleucia  and  Ctesiphon.  The 
humbled  Parthians  sued  for  peace,  and  gained  it  at  the 
price  of  the  border  lands  between  the  two  great  rivers. 
The  fame  of  these  achievements  found  an  echo  possibly 
in  the  far  regions  of  the  east  of  Asia,  where  no  sound  of 
western  armies  had  hitherto  been  heard.  The  native 
chroniclers  of  China  date  the  first  Roman  embassy  to 
the  Celestial  Empire,  with  its  presents  of  tortoiseshell 
and  ivory,  from  the  very  year  in  which  the 

A.   D.      l66.  •      T  T-,  1      •  1  1  , 

war  with  Parthia  closed  ;  but  the  visitors, 
whether  simply  merchants  or  official  envoys,  entered 
China  from  the  south,  and  not  by  the  direct  route 
through  central  Asia,  which  when  they  started  was 
doubtless  barred  to  them  by  the  movements  of  the 
armies  in  the  field. 

Five   years   had   passed   away  in  the    course    of  the 
campaign,  and  Verus  at  length  unwillingly  prepared  to 


trf*  iSo.      Marcus  Aure litis  Antoninus.  95 

leave  the  scene  of  his  soldiers'  glory,  but  of    „ 

11  Venus   claims 

his  own  shame.     Once  only,  at  the  urgent    the  merit  of 

entreaties  of  his  court,  had  he  moved  to  the  l  e  tnump 
front  as  far  as  the  Euphrates.  He  had  journeyed  also 
to  Ephesus  to  meet  his  bride  Lucilla,  for  fear  that  Marcus 
Aurelius  might  come  with  her  in  person,  to  see  for  him- 
self the  life  which  his  son-in-law  was  leading.  But  his 
time  was  chiefly  spent  in  listless  dalliance  and  sybaritic 
ease,  in  which  there  was  little  else  to  mark  the  lapse  of 
time  except  the  recurring  changes  from  his  winter- 
quarters  to  his  summer-palace.  There  was  little  in  such 
a  life  to  fire  the  fancy  of  poet  laureate  or  courtly  chroni- 
cler. Yet  if  we  read  the  letter  which  he  wrote  to  Fronto 
on  the  subject  of  the  Parthian  war,  we  shall  find  that  he 
expects  the  history  on  which  the  old  professor  was  en- 
gaged to  make  his  name  illustrious  to  future  ages.  He 
promises  that  his  generals  shall  forward 
their  account  of  the  battles  and  campaigns,  whites™"*0 
with  special  memoirs  on  the  nature  of  the    courtly . 

r  panegyric. 

country  and  the  climate,  and  offers  even  to 
send  some  notes  himself,  so  great  is  his  desire  for  glory. 
But  calmly,  as  a  thing  of  course,  he  takes  the  credit  of 
all  the  successes  won  by  the  valour  of  his  captains,  and 
begs  the  rhetorician  to  paint  in  striking  colours  the 
general  dismay  in  Syria  before  the  Emperor  arrived 
upon  the  scene  to  chain  victory  once  more  to  the  Roman 
eagles.  The  history  which  Fronto  wrote  has  not  sur- 
vived ;  but  we  may  judge  perhaps  somewhat  of  its  tone, 
and  of  the  author's  willingness  to  cater  for  the  vanity  of 
his  princely  correspondent,  when  we  read  his  pretentious 
eulogy  of  the  struggle  of  generosity  between  the  two  co- 
rulers  on  the  subject  of  the  titles  to  be  taken  in  honour 
of  the  successes  in  the  East.  Marcus  Aurelius  declined 
to  be  called  Parthicus  or  Armeniacus  in  memory  of  a 


96  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

war  in  which  he  took  no  part ;  but  Verus,  not  to  be  out- 
done in  seeming  modesty,  would  only  accept  the  names 
on  condition  that  he  shared  them  with  his  colleague. 
"To  have  pressed  this  point  and  won  it,"  says  the 
courtier,  in  his  hyperbolic  vein,  "is  a  greater  thing  than 
all  the  glories  of  the  past  campaigns.  Many  a  strong- 
hold like  Artaxata  had  fallen  before  the  onset  of  thy 
conquering  arms,  but  it  was  left  for  thy  eloquence  to 
storm,  in  the  resolute  persistence  of  thy  brother  to  refuse 
the  proffered  honours,  a  fortress  more  impregnable." 

Little  is  told  us  of  what  passed  meantime  during  the 
five  years  in  Italy,  where  Marcus  Aurelius  ruled  alone ; 
,„    .      ,.  and  the  scanty  fragments  of  our  knowledge 

M.  Aurelius  . 

meantime  come  chiefly  from  monumental  sources.  The 

endows  .  -  i   -i  i  riii 

charitable  endowments  tor  poor  children  founded  by 
foundations,       ^e   cnarity  0f  recent    Emperors  were    put 

under  the  charge  of  consular  officials  instead  of  simple 
knights,  in  token  of  the  importance  of  the  work,  while 
on  occasion  of  the  imperial  marriage,  which  bound  the 
princes  by  fresh  ties,  the  claims  of  poverty  were  not  for- 
gotten, but  fresh  funds  were  set  apart  to  rear  more  little 
ones,  who  were  to  bear  probably  the  names  of  the  two 
reigning  houses,  as  the  earlier  foundlings  had  been 
called  after  Trajan  and  Faustina. 

Another  measure  of  this  date  seems  to  have  been 
prompted  by  a  tender  interest  for  the  material  welfare 
of  the  people.  Some  four  or  five  officials  of  high  rank 
had  been  sent  from  Rome  of  late  with  large  powers  of 
jurisdiction  in  the  county  courts  of  Italy,  in 
appoints  tne  interest  alike  of  central    authority  and 

furzdia, 

local  justice,  rising  as  they  did  above  the 
town  councillors  and  magistrates  of  boroughs.  These 
"  juridici"  as  they  were  called,  were  now  entrusted  with 
the  further  duty  of  watching  over  the  supplies  of  food, 


i47-ISo.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  97 

and  the  regulation  of  the  corn  trade,  for  Italy  was  letting 
her  lands  pass  out  of  culture,  and  growing  more  depend- 
ent every  year  upon  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  the 
surplus  of  foreign  harvests.  An  inscription  found  at 
Rimini  informs  us  that  the  seven  wards  of  the  old  city, 
and  all  the  corporations  in  it,  passed  a  public  vote  of 
thanks  to  one  of  these  officials  for  his  laborious  exertions 
in  behalf  of  themselves  and  all  their  neighbours  in  the 
hard  times  of  famine. 

A  third  change  breathes  the  same  spirit  *" b^JuTrXln 
of  compassion  for  the  helpless  and  the  des-    °[  orphan 

1  r  children, 

titute.  A  "praetor"  was  specially  commis- 
sioned to  watch  over  the  welfare  of  orphan  children, 
and  to  see  that  the  guardians  did  not  abuse  their  trust  or 
neglect  the  interests  of  their  wards.  By  a  singular  coin- 
cidence the  first  of  these  officials  thus  appointed  became 
soon  after  a  juridicus  in  Northern  Italy,  and  also  won  an 
honorary  notice  of  the  energy  with  which  he  had  met 
the  crisis  of  famine,  and  brought  to  countless  homes  the 
Emperor's  thoughtful  tenderness. 

A  new  provision  was  closely  connected  with  these 
changes,  as  well  as  with  the  needs  of  a  well- 

and  caused 

ordered  state.     All  births  in  Italy  were  to       births  to  be 
be  registered  henceforth  in   a  public  office 
within  the  space  of  thirty  days — a  necessary  step  if  pub- 
lic or  private  charity  were  to  try  to  cope  with  the  spread 
of  pauperism  and  despair. 

For  the  rest  the  Emperor  had  no  high  ambition,  nor 
cared  to  signalise  himself  by  great  achievements.  He 
was  content  to  let  the  Senate  rule,  and  treat- 

.  He  works 

ed  it  throughout  with  marked  respect,  be-      unremitting- 

1  .  1  ly  himself 

ing  always  present  at  its  meetings  when  he  atpu'iic 
could,  and  when  business  was  pressing  he  business; 
sat  oftentimes  till  nightfall.      He  never  spared  himself 


gS  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  A.D, 

meantime,  but  worked  on  with  unremitting  labour  till 
his  pale  face  and  careworn  looks  told  all  who  loved  him 
how  serious  was  the  strain  upon  his  feeble  powers  of 
body,  and  made  his  physicians  warn  him  that  he  must 
give  himself  more  rest  or  die.  For  he  was  anxious  above 
all  things  to  do  justice  promptly  to  his  people,  by  him- 
self or  through  his  servants,  and  to  have  no  arrears  of 
work.  With  this  view  he  added  largely  to  the  number 
of  the  days  on  which  the  law  courts  might  be  opened, 
and  sought  the  counsel  and  the  active  aid  of  the  most 
enlightened  men  around  him.  His  old  master  Junius 
Rusticus  had  to  give  up  his  learned  leisure,  and  take 
perforce  to  politics,  to  be  consul  first,  then  prefect  of  the 
city,  to  show  his  old  pupil  by  his  own  example  how  to 
turn  the  Stoic  maxims  to  practical  account,  and  prove 
that  the  ruler  of  mankind  must  learn  to  govern  others 
by  first  governing  himself. 
— /-  But  Marcus  Aurelius  had  little  leisure  after  this  to  stu- 
dy the  arts  of  civil  rule  in  peace,  for  untoward  destiny 
required  him  to  spend  the  best  years  of  his 
calledaway  ^e  m  an  inglorious  warfare  with  enemies 
from  civil  unknown  to  fame.     His  was  too  gentle  and 

duties  to  the  ° 

distasteful  sensitive  a  nature  to  feel  at  home  among 

work  of  war.  .  -iii-iii 

the  armies  :  too  large-minded  to  be  dazzled 
by  the  vanity  of  fading  laurels.  The  war  was  none  of 
his  own  seeking,  and  he  would  gladly  have  purchased 
peace  at  any  price  save  that  of  honour  or  of  the  safety 
of  his  people.  But  the  dangers  were  very  imminent  and 
grave,  and  could  not  everywhere  be  safely  left  to  the 
care  of  generals  of  lower  rank.  The  austere  lessons  of 
philosophy  had  taught  him  not  to  play  the  sophist  with 
his  conscience,  or  to  shirk  distasteful  offices  when  duty 
called. 

The  Roman  lines  lay  like  a  broad  belt  around  the 


i47-ISo.       Marcus  Aureiius  Antoninus.  99 

civilised  world,  and  the  trusty  legionaries  stood  there  on 
watch  and  ward.  The  wild  tribes  beyond  had  been  long 
quiet,  cowed- seemingly  by  Trajan's  martial  energy  and 
Hadrian's  armaments  of  war.  But  now  some  passion- 
ate impulse  seemed  to  pass  like  a  fiery  cross  along  the 
borders,  and  barbarous  hordes  came  swarming  up  with 
fury  to  the  attack,  and  threatened  to  burst  the  barriers 
raised  against  them.  The  Parthians  had  been  humbled 
for  a  time,  but  were  soon  to  show  themselves  in  arms 
once  more.  The  Moors  of  Africa  were  on  the  move, 
and  before  long  were  sweeping  over  Spain  with  havoc 
and  desolation  in  their  track.  The  Caledonians  of  the 
far  west  were  irritated  rather  than  frightened  by  the  long 
lines  of  wall  and  dyke  which  had  been  built  to  shut 
them  in,  and  their  untamed  fierceness  was  enough  to 
make  the  Roman  troops  retire  before  the  children  of  the 
mist. 

From  the  mouth  of  the  Dniester  to  where  the  Rhine 
bears  to  the  sea  the  waters  of  all  its  tributary  rivers  a 
multitude  of  restless  tribes  with  uncouth  name  and  un- 
known antecedents,  Teutonic,  Slave,  Finnish,  and  Tar- 
tar, were  roaming  in  hostile  guise  along  the  northern 
frontiers,  and  ready  to  burst  in  at  every  unguarded 
point.  It  is  time  to  enter  more  into  details  on  the  sub- 
ject of  these  wars,  to  see  in  what  spirit  the  meditative 
student  faced  the  rough  work  of  war,  and  how  far  he 
showed  the  forethought  of  a  ruler  cast  on  evil  times. 

We  turn  with  natural  interest  to  read  of  the   fortunes 
of  his  arms  in    Britain,  but  there  are  only 
scanty  data  to  reward  our  search.     At  the    ^he  fortunes 

J  of  the  Roman 

outset  of   this    period   a   new    commander,    arms  in 
Calpurnius    Agricola   by    name,    had   been 
sent  to  meet  the  threatening  rumours   of  a  rising  among 
the  native  or  the  Roman  forces.     His  name  recalled  the 


ioo  The  Age  of  the  Anionines.  a.d. 

memory  of  the  famous  captain  of  an  earlier  age,  whose 
career  of  glory  in  the  island  found  in  his  kinsman  Taci- 
tus a  chronicler  of  note.  But  there  is  no  evidence  that 
the  efforts  of  the  later  general  were  crowned  with  like?  suc- 
cess. Seven  years  afterwards  at  the  least  he  is  mentioned 
in  an  inscription  found  near  Hadrian's  wall ;  but  there 
is  no  trace  of  any  forward  movement  in  the  course  of  all 
these  years,  not  a  single  monumental  notice  of  a  Roman 
soldier  upon  Scottish  soil,  though  under  Antoninus  an 
imperial  legate  had  pushed  his  way  some  eighty  miles 
beyond  the  old  ramparts  of  defence,  and  raised  a  second 
line  of  wall  and  dyke  between  the  Clyde  and  the  Frith 
of  Forth  to  screen  the  conquered  lands  from  the  indom- 
itable races  of  the .  north.  Reinforcements  had  been 
brought  meantime  from  countries  far  away ;  five  thousand 
horsemen  came  in  one  contingent  from  the  lower  Dan- 
ube, where  a  friendly  tribe  had  taken  service  in  the  pay 
of  Rome,  but  they  found  their  match  in  the  hardy  war' 
riors  of  the  Picts  and  Scots,  before  whom  Sarmatian 
ferocity  and  Roman  discipline  combined  could  scarcely 
make  head  or  even  hold  their  ground.  But  formal  his- 
tory hardly  deigns  to  note  their  doings  at  this  time,  and 
the  troubles  of  that  distant  province  seemed  insignificant 
enough,  no  doubt,  to  the  imperial  court. 

The  dangers  on   another  frontier  were  more  threaten- 
ing.    The  army  of  defence  upon  the  Danube  had  been 
weakened  to  meet  the  pressure  of  the  Par- 
Th- danger  en    thian  war   an(j   the  Marcomanni  and  their 

the  Danube 

was  more  neighbours,    who    were    constantly   on    the 

pressing,  ,  ■  . 

alert,  had  taken  advantage  of  the  withdrawal 
of  the  legions,  and  harried  the  undefended  provinces 
with  fire  and  sword.  From  the  mouth  of  the  Danube  to 
the  confines  of  Illyria  the  barbarian  world  was  on  the 
move,   and  all  those  elements  of  disorder,  if  allowed  to 


i47_I8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antojiinus.  101 

gather  undisturbed,  might  roll  ere  long  as  an  avalanche 
of  ruin  on  the  south.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in 
parrying  this  danger,  when  peace  was  restored  on  the 
Euphrates.  The  acclamations  of  the  city  populace  had 
hardly  died  away,  or  the  pomp  of  the  triumphal  show 
faded  from  men's  thoughts  when  both  Emperors  resolved 
to  start  together  to  conduct  their  armies  in  the  field. 
But  in  spite  of  the  successes  lately  won  they 
weie   in    no  cheerful   mood   to  open    fresh    Emperors 

„,  c  ,  , .  , .  started  for  the 

campaigns.     The  tone  ot    public  sentiment   north'  r  1 

was  sadly  low ;  the  brooding  fancy  of  the  peo-    frontl  r' 

pie  drew  presages  of  disaster  and  defeat  for  coming  days 

from  the  misfortunes  of  the  present.     The 

effects  of  the  famine  were  still  felt  in  Italy,    while  the 

J        p!;igue  was 

though  years  had  passed  since  its  ravages  had    spreading 

.       rr  -  nl1  rapidly 

first  begun,  and  officers  ot  state  had  been  within  the 
ready  with  their  timely  succours.  A  yet  ^1x167. 
more  fatal  visitant  had  stalked  among  them, 
and  spread  a  panic  through  the  hearts  of  men.  The  sol- 
diers who  had  come  back  from  the  East  to  take  part  in 
the  reviews  which  graced  the  public  triumph,  or  to  return 
to  their  old  quarters,  brought  with  them  the  fatal  seeds 
of  plague,  and  spread  them  rapidly  through  all  the 
countries  of  the  West.  The  scourge  passed  on  its  deso- 
lating course  from  land  to  land.  In  the  capital  itself 
numbers  of  honoured  victims  fell,  while  deaths  followed 
so  fast  upon  each  other  that  all  the  carriages  available 
were  needed  for  the  transport  of  the  plague-stricken 
corpses  through  the  street.  Stringent  laws  had  to  be 
passed  to  regulate  the  interment  of  the  bodies,  and  pro- 
visions made  in  the  interests  of  the  poorer  classes,  for 
whom  the  state  took  up  the  task  which  slipped  from  their 
despairing  hands.  While  men's  hearts  were  thus  failing 
them  for  fear,  and  death  was  knocking  at  the  door  of 


102  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  A.D. 

every  class  without  distinction,  appeal  was  made  to  the 
ministrations  of  religion  to  soothe  and  reassure  their 
troubled  minds.  Lcctistcrnia,  as  they  were  called,  were 
solemnised;  days  of  public  mourning  and  humiliation 
set  apart ;  and  as  if  the  old  national  deities  were  inef- 
fectual to  save,  men  turned  in  their  bewilderment  to  the 
mystic  rites  of  alien  creeds,  and  drew  near  with  offering 
and  prayer  to  the  altars  of  many  an  unknown  god. 
The  races  of  the  North  meantime,  who  had  learnt  that 
the  Emperors  were  on  the  way,  already  heard 
The  border        upon  the  border  the  tramp  of  the  advancing- 

races  retire,  *■  l  ° 

and  beg  for  legions,  and  their  ardour  for  war  was  cooling 
fast  in  the  presence  of  the  forces  of  defence. 
Hardly  had  the  princes  arrived  at  Aquileia,  when  the 
tidings  came  that  their  enemies  had  withdrawn  beyond 
the  river,  and  were  sending  in  hot  haste  envoys  to  sue 
for  peace,  bearing  the  heads  of  the  counsellors  who  had 
urged  them  to  attack  the  Roman  lines.  So  complete 
seemed  the  discouragement  among  them  that  the  Ouadi, 
who  were  at  the  time  without  a  leader,  asked  to  have  a 
chieftain  given  them  by  Rome.  Verus,  we  read,  in  the 
carelessness  of  his  self-indulgent  nature,  thought  that 
the  danger  was  quite  over,  and  was  urgent  to  return. 
But  it  needed  little  foresight  to  discern  that  it  was  but  a 
temporary  lull  in  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  that  only  a 
stern  and  watchful  front  could  maintain  the 
but  before  long    crround  which  had  been  won.     The  meagre 

are  in  arms  °  .  ° 

again,  and  the    annals  of  the  period  fail  to  tell  us  how  long 

marching'         the  Emperors  were  in  the  field.     We  only 

them'  hear  that    within  two  years    of  their  return 

they  were  summoned  from  Rome  once  more 

A.D.    169.  J 

bv  the  news  that  the  hollow  truce  was  bro- 
ken,  and  their  old  enemies  again  in  arms.  They  set 
out  together,  as  before,  for  Aquileia,  where  the  armies 


i47-I8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  103 

were  to  be  organized  and  drilled  during  the  winter 
months,  to  be  ready  for  the  spring  when  the  campaign 
might  open  in  real  earnest. 

But    the    plague,    whose    ravages   had   never   wholly 
ceased  meantime,  broke  out  afresh  with  redoubled  fury 
in  the  crowded  camp,  and  the  death  rate  mounted  with 
alarming  speed.     The  famous  Galen  was  called  in  to  try 
all  that  medical  experience  and  skill  could 
do,  but  his  efforts  failed  to  arrest  the  spread      *re  checked 
of  pestilence   or   bring  its  victims    back  to       spread  of 
health.     In  face  of  such  fearful  waste  of  life 
the  plan  of  the  war  had  to  be  changed.     The  camp  was 
broken   up   without  delay  ;    the  various  battalions   were 
dispersed  in   separate  cantonments  ;  and  the  Emperors 
set  forth  on  their  return. 

They  were  not  far  upon  the  homeward  way  when,  at 
Altinum,  Verus  was  struck  down  with  a  sudden  attack, 
from  which    he   never  rallied,  and  Marcus 

at  i    r  11  .  1  •  which  is 

Aurelius  was  left  to  rule  alone.  Alone  in-  fatal  to 
deed  he  had  often  stood  already ;  the  col- 
league who  was  taken  from  him  had  helped  him  little 
with  the  cares  of  state,  and  there  were  few  who  could 
regret  his  loss.  Unnerved  by  years  of  selfish  luxury  in 
the  East,  Verus  had  come  back  with  shattered  body  and 
with  diseased  mind  to  startle  the  sober  citizens  of  Rome 
with  freaks  of  dissolute  wantonness  which  recalled  the 
memory  of  Nero  and  the  orgies  of  his  House  of  Gold. 
Marcus  Aurelius  was  not  blind  to  the  luxury  and  extra- 
vagance of  his  ignoble  nature.  He  had  sent  him  to  "he 
East,  perhaps,  in  hope  that  the  braver  manhood  in  him 
might  be  roused  by  the  sobering  contact  of  real  cares. 
He  had  seen  to  his  dismay  that  the  careless  worldling 
had  come  back  with  a  motley  train  of  actors,  dancers, 
parasites,  and  buffoons,  to  be  the  pastimes  of  his  idle 


io4  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

life,  while  in  default  of  manlier  pleasures  he  loved  to 
have  gladiators  in  to  fence  and  hack  themselves  before 
his  eyes. 

Still  the  Emperor  had  borne  calmly  and  patiently  the 
vices  of  his  colleague,  and  even  now  that  he  was  dead 
~,        ,    ,        he  proposed  the  usual  vote  of  honours   in 

1  henceforth  *     ^  l 

M.  Aureiius       the    Senate ;    but  he   dropped  some  words, 

reigned  alone,  ,  ,  ,  .    , 

perhaps  unconsciously,  which  betrayed  to 
watchful  ears  that  he  had  long  chafed  and  fretted, 
though  in  silence,  and  now  was  resolved  to  rule  alone 
without  the  embarrassment  of  divided  power.  He  might 
perhaps  have  been  more  careful  had  he  known  that  ru- 
mour was  busy  with  the  death  of  Verus,  and  pointing  to 
foul  play  with  which  his  own  name  was  coupled,  though 
indeed  in  all  days  of  personal  government  scandalous 
gossip  circulates  about  the  court,  and,  as  an  old  bio- 
grapher remarks,  no  one  can  hope  to  rise  above  suspicion 
if  the  pure  name  of  M.  Aureiius  was  thus  befouled. 

He  had  lost  also  a  young  son  whom  he  loved  fondly 
and  mourned  deeply,  for  the  sages  of  the  Porch  had 
never  taught  him,  as  they  did  to  others,  to  disguise  his 
feelings  under  a  cloak  of  Stoic  calm,  and  the  Senate's 
votes  of  honours  and  of  statues  were  but  a  sorry  com- 
fort to  the  tender  father. 

But  he  had  little  leisure  for  his  grief.  The  danger  on 
the  Danube  was  still  urgent,  and  the  same  year  saw  him 

and  was  soon  once  more  on  his  way  northward,  to  guide 
call-d  once        tne  plans  and  share  the  labours  of  the  war. 

more  to  the  * 

seat  of  war  in    All  through  his  reign  that    danger   lasted; 

the  North,  n.  n  ,  ,  .   ,       ,        .   .  -  , 

nor  did  he  ever  shirk  the  irksome  duty,  but 
was  constantly  upon  the  scene  of  action,  and  lived 
henceforth  more  on  the  frontier  than  at  Rome.  In 
default  of  full  details  in  the  ancient  writers  we  may  judge 
how  arduous  was  the  struggle  by  the  evidence   of  the 


i47^_ISo.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  105 


where  the 
struggle  w;.s 


inscriptions.  Of  the  thirty  legions  which 
made  up  the  regular  complement  of  the 
Roman  army,  more  than  half  took  part  in       long  and 

r  aiduous. 

the  Alarcomannic  war,  and  have  left  repeated 
tokens  of  their  presence  in  epitaphs  or  votive  offerings. 
We  may  find  the  traces  also  of  the  irregular  contingents 
which  marched  with  them  to  the  field  from  many  a  far- 
off  province  and  its  fringe  of  barbarous  races,  and  which 
though  variously  manned  and  armed  were  welded  into 
unity  by  the  stern  discipline  of  Rome.  For  she  soon 
learned  the  lesson,  since  familiar  to  the  world,  to  group 
distinct  nationalities  round  a  common  centre  by  a  strong 
imperial  system  in  which  each  helped  in  arms  to  keep 
the  others  down.  As  the  war  went  on,  the  Emperor  had 
recourse  to  far  more  questionable  levies,  if  what  we  read 
is  true,  enrolling  exiles,  gladiators,  and  even  slaves  in 
two  new  legions  which  he  brought  into  the  field.  The 
work  of  recruiting  went  slowly  forward,  and  could  scarce- 
ly supply  the  constant  drain  of  war.  The  central  pro- 
vinces had  long  ago  wearied  of  military  service,  since 
Augustus  raised  his  legions  on  the  border  lands,  and  at 
Rome  itself  no  volunteers  would  answer  to  the  call;  but 
the  lazy  rabble  hooted  as  they  saw  the  gladiators  go,  and 
said  in  hot  displeasure,  "Our  gloomy  prince  would  rob 
us  even  of  our  pleasures  to  make  us  turn  philosophers." 

The  pestilence  was  still  abroad,  and  spread  its  rava- 
ges among  the  ranks,  clouding  with  discouragement  all 
their  hones  and  efforts.  Thev  showed  little  courage  in 
the  field ;  sometimes  they  were  driven  back  in  panic 
fear.  In  one  such  rout  the  fortress  of  Aquileia  had  near- 
ly fallen,  but  the  bravery  of  its  garrison  saved  it  from 
disaster.  To  make  matters  worse,  the  treasury  was 
empty,  drained  perhaps  by  the  charitable  outlay  for  the 
sufferers  by  plague  and  famine.      The   Emperor  drew 


io6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

upon  his  privy  purse  ;  when  that  too  failed,  he  stripped 
his  palaces  of  their  costly  furniture,  put  up  to  auction 
the  art-treasures  which  Hadrian's  fine  taste  had  gathered 
in  the  course  of  the  journeys  of  a  lifetime,  and  sold  them 
all  without  reserve,  while  for  himself  he  needed  little 
more  than  the  general's  teni  and  soldier's  cloak. 

Brighter  days  set  in  at  last  to  reward  his  persevering 
courage,  though  dangers  meantime  had  thickened  in  his 
path.  The  tribes  of  the  Rhine  and  Danube  had  joined 
hands,  forgetting  for  a  while  their  mutual  rivalries  in 
the  hope  of  carrying  the  Roman  lines  in  one  great  si- 
multaneous assault.  Their  women  were  stirred  with 
patriotic  ardour,  and  fought  and  died  beside  their  hus- 
bands. The  rigour  of  the  winter  could  not  check  them  ; 
for  in  time  of  frost,  we  read,  they  challenged  the  legion- 
aries to  mortal  duel  on  the  ice-bound  river/where  the 
southerners,  dismayed  at  first,  found  a  firm  footing  at 
the  last  by  standing  on  their  shields,  and  closing  in  a 
death  grapple  with  the  foe.  In  the  ranks  of  Rome  none 
showed  more  resolution  than  the  Emperor  himself,  none 
faced  with  a  calmer  or  a  stouter  heart  the  hardship  of 
the  wintry  climate,  the  monotony  of  the  life  of  camps, 
or  the  horrors  of  the  crash  of  war.  At  length  he  was 
rewarded  by  seeing  the  assailants  sullenly  retire  before 
the  firm  front  of  his  array  ;  and  the  Danubian  provinces 
were  left  a  while  undisturbed. 

Not  content  with  resting  on  his  laurels  he  set  forth  to 
chastise  the  Ouadi,  and  drive  back  the  hos- 

When  the  ~ 

Marcomannic  tile  tribes  yet  further  from  his  borders.    The 

for  a  time,  the  hard    winter  had  been   followed    by  a  hot 

asainst^e  an<^  Pai"ching  Summer  which  made  the  la- 

Quadi  fol-  bours  of  the  march  exhausting  to  the  troops. 

lowed,  &  r 

In  the    midst   of  the  campaign  they    were 
lured  into  a  pass  where  the  natives  beset  them  on  all 


1 4 7- 1 80 .       Marcus  A urelius  Antoninus.  107 

sides.  Worn  out  by  heat  and  thirst,  and  harassed  by 
continual  onsets,  they  were  on  the  point  of  breaking  in 
disgraceful  rout  when  the  scorching  sun  was  covered, 
and  the  rain  burst  in  torrents  from  the  clouds  to  cool 
and  refresh  the  weary  combatants.  The  enemy  came 
swarming  up  once  more  to  the  attack,  but  they  were 
met  with  pelting  hail  and  lightning  flashes,  and  driven 
back  in  utter  consternation  to  lay  down  their  arms  be- 
fore the  imperial  forces.  Dion  Cassius,  who  tells  the 
story  in  greatest  detail,  accounts  for  the  marvel  by  the 
magic  incantations  of  an  Egyptian  in  the  army,  whose 
potent  spells  unlocked  the  windows  of  heaven,  and 
called  to  the  rescue  powers  unseen.  And  in  accord- 
ance with  the  legend  we  may  see  on  the  monumental 
column,  which  pourtrays  in  sculptured  forms  the  mili- 
tary story  of  this  reign,  a  Jupiter  Pluvius  of  giant  stature 
whose  arms  and  hair  seem  dripping  with  the  moisture 
which  the  Romans  run  to  gather,  while  the  thunderbolts 
are  falling  fast  in  the  meantime  upon  the  hostile  ranks. 
But  Xiphilinus,  the  Christian  monk  who  abridged 
the  historian's   tedious   chapters,   taxes  his 

,  .....  .  .     .  in    the   course 

author  roundly  with  inventing  a  lying  tale    of  which  we 
to  support  the  credit  of  the  heathen  gods,    supposed  mar- 
His  pious  fancy    fondly  dwells  upon  a  mira-    thunder" n 
cle  of  grace,  vouchsafed  in   answer  to  the    Legion." 
Christian  prayers  of  a  battalion  come  from 
Melitene,  in  the  east  of  Asia,  which  was  called  thence- 
forth the  "Thundering"  legion,  in  token  of  the  prodigy 
wrought  by  their  ministry  of  intercession.     The  fathers 
of  the  Church  took  kindly  to  the  story,  and  pointed  the 
moral  with  becoming  fervour.     But  the  twelfth  legion, 
which  had  indeed  been  sent  long  since  from  the  siege 
of  Jerusalem  to  Melitene,  to  defend  the  line  of  the  Eu- 
phrates, had  borne   in    earlier  years  the  name,   not  of 


10S  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

"  Fulminans  "  indeed  but  "  Fulminata,"  and  so  appears 
on  an  inscription  which  was  written  as  early  as  the  time 
of  Nero. 

There  was  now  a  prospect  of  at  least  a  breathing 
space  in  the  long  struggle  with  the  races  of  the  North. 
The  humbled  tribes  consented  to  give  back  the  captives 
swept  away  in  border  forays.  The  human  spoil  to  be 
surrendered  by  the  Ouadi  reached  the  tale  of  50,000,  and 
a  neighbouring  race  which  had  resisted  with  desperate 
valour  restored,  we  are  told,  twice  that  number  when 
the  war  was  closed.  Some  hordes  of  the  Marcomanni 
consented  to  abandon  their  old  homes,  and  were  quar- 
tered in  the  country  near  Ravenna  ;  but  before  long  they 
tired  of  the  dulness  of  inglorious  peace,  and  took  once 
more  to  butchery  and  rapine,  till  Italy  sadly  rued  the  fatal 
experiment  which  future  Emperors  were  one  day  to  copy. 

The  Emperor  was  still  busy  with  the  arrears  of  work 

which  the  war  had  brought  with  it  in  its  train,  when  the 

alarming  news  arrived  that  a  governor  in 

The  revolt  .  ,  -  . 

of  Avidius  the.  East  had  raised  the  banner  of  revolt, 
and  seemed  likely  to  carrv  with  him  the 
whole  province  as  well  as  the  legions  under  his  com- 
mand. Avidius  Cassius  had  won  distinction  in  the  Par- 
thian campaigns,  and  to  his  skill  and  energy  the  suc- 
cesses of  the  war  were  largely  due,  while  the  general  in 
chief  was  lounging  at  ease  in  the  haunts  of  Syrian  luxury. 
He  had  been  chosen  at  the  first  as  a  commander  of  the 
good  old  type  to  tighten  the  bands  of  discipline  among 
the  dissolute  soldiers  who  were  more  formidable  to  quiet 
citizens  than  to  the  foe.  He  soon  checked  with  an  un- 
sparing hand  the  spread  of  luxury  and  self-indulgence, 
let  them  stroll  no  more  at  will  in  the  licentious  precincts 
of  Daphne,  or  in  like  scenes  of  riot,  but  kept  them  to 
hard  fare  and  steady  drill,  threatening  to   make   them 


i47_ISo.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  109 

winter  in  the  open  field,  till  he  had  them  perfectly  in 
hand.  Before  long  a  new  spirit  of  hardihood  and  valour 
spread  among  the  ranks,  till  the  army,  going  forward 
witK  their  leader  in  the  path  of  glory,  proved  itself 
worthy  of  the  ancient  memories  of  Rome. 

Yet  Verus  eyed  with  jealousy  the  talents  which 
eclipsed  his  own,  was  stung  by  words  or  looks  of  sar- 
casm which  fell  sometimes  from  the  hardy  soldier,  or 
perhaps  divined  the  latent  germs  of  the  ambition  which 
was  one  day   to    make  a  rebel  of   the  loyal 

J  against    whom 

warrior.     He  warned  his  brother  Emperor    M.  Aurelius 

,  .   .  .  ,  11-  had  been 

to  be  upon  his  guard,  and  urged  him  even    warned 


in 


to  dismiss  the  general  from  his  post  before  vain" 
his  influence  with  the  army  grew  too  potent.  The 
answer  of  M.  Aurelius  is  recorded,  and  throws  an  in- 
teresting light  on  his  pure  unselfish  nature.  "  I  have 
read,"  he  writes,- "  the  letter  in  which  you  give  utterance 
to  fears  ill-becoming  an  Emperor  or  a  government  like 
ours.  If  it  is  the  will  of  heaven  that  Cassius  should 
mount  the  throne,  resistance  on  our  part  is  idle.  Your 
own  forefather  used  to  say  that  no  prince  can  kill  his 
own  successor.  If  it  is  not  written  in  the  book  of  destiny 
that  he  shall  reign,  disloyal  efforts  on  his  part  will  be 
followed  by  his  fall.  Why  then  deprive  ourselves,  on 
mere  suspicion,  of  a  good  general,  whose  services  are 
needful  to  the  state  ?  His  death,  you  say,  would  secure 
the  prospects  of  my  children.  Nay,  but  it  will  be  time 
for  the  sons  of  M.  Aurelius  to  die  when  Cassius  is  able 
more  than  they  to  win  the  love  and  further  the  happiness 
of  our  people."  Nor  were  these  mere  idle  phrases,  for 
Cassius  was  retained  in  command  of  Syria  and  the 
border  armies,  and  treated  with  an  undiminished  confi- 
dence, which  he  repayed  by  quelling  a  revolt  in  Egypt 
and  by  victories  in  Arabia. 


no  The  Age  of  the  Anionines.  a.d, 

But  the  man  of  action  seems  to  have  despised  the 

scholar  prince  as  a  mere  bookworm,  fitter  to  take  part 

in  verbal  quibbles  than  in  cares  of  state,  to 

IxpreSeTbT*    have  thouSht  him  to°  easy-tempered   and 
Avidius  Cas-      indulgent  to  keep  strict  watch  over  his  ser- 

sins  (or  the  * 

powers  oi  the     vants  and  check  their  knavery  and  greed. 

Emperor  as  T  ■,  ,  .  ,  ,....., 

aiuier,  ln  a  letter  to  his  son-in-law,  which  is  still 

preserved,  he  dwells  on  such  abuses,  how 
truly  we  have  no  means  of  knowing.    "Marcus  is  a  very 

worthy  man,  but  in  his  wish  to  be  thought 
S^cii.GaIli"    merciful  he  bears  with  those  of  whose  cha- 

racter  he  thinks  but  ill.  Where  is  Cato  the 
old  censor,  where  are  the  strict  rules  of  ancient  times? 
They  are  vanished  long  ago,  and  no  one  dreams  of  re- 
viving them  again;  for  our  prince  spends  his  time  in 
star  gazing,  in  fine  talk  about  the  elements  and  the 
human  soul,  in  questions  of  justice  and  of  honour,  but 
neglects  the  interests  of  state  meanwhile.  There  is  need 
to  draw  the  sword,  to  prune  and  lop  away  with  energy, 
before  the  commonwealth  can  be  put  upon  its  former 
footing.  As  for  the  governors  of  the  provinces,  if  gov- 
ernors they  can  be  called  who  think  that  offices  of  state 
are  given  them  that  they  may  live  at  ease  and  make 

their  fortunes — was  not  a  praetorian  praefect 

and  com-  x  x 

plaints  of  his     only  the  other  day  a  starveling  mendicant, 

subordinates.         •    1  1  01*1  ^.i 

rich  as  he  is  now? — let  them  enjoy  their 
wealth  and  take  their  pleasure  while  they  can,  for  if 
heaven  smiles  upon  my  cause  they  shall  fill  the  treasury 
with  the  riches  they  disgorge."  It  would  be  hazardous 
to  accept  the  views  of  a  discontented  rival  in  place  of 
solid  evidence  upon  this  subject;  but  it  is  likely  enough 
that  the  Emperor  may  have  been  too  tolerant  and  gentle 
to  repress  with  needful  promptitude  the  abuses  of  his 
servants.     The  machinery  of  government  was  perhaps 


i47_ISo.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  Ill 

out  of  gear  when  the  chief  who  applied  the  motive  force 
was  busy  with  a  great  war  upon  a  distant  frontier,  and 
glad  to  steal  the  moments  of  his  leisure  for  the  congenial 
studies  of  philosophy. 

Certainly  if  we  may  trust  the  stones  gleaned  by  the 
writers  of  a  later  age,  Avidius  Cassius  was  not  the  man 
to  err  on  the  side  of  sentimental  weakness.  He  had 
gained  a  name,  it  seems,  among  the  soldiers  for  a 
severity  near  akin  to  cruelty,  had  invented  startling 
forms  of  punishment  for  marauders  and  deserters,  cruci- 
fying some  in  frightful  torments,  and  leaving  others  ham- 
strung by  the  way  to  be  a  living  warning  to  the  rest.  He 
carried  the  sternness  of  his  discipline  so  far  as  to  hurry 
off  to  execution  the  officers  who  had  just  returned  in 
triumph  from  a  border  foray  for  which  he  had  himself 
given  no  sanction.  But  we  can  put  little  trust  in  the 
talk  of  the  day,  for  few  cared  to  deal  tenderly  with  the 
memory  of  an  unsuccessful  rebel.  Probably  it  is  only 
such  an  afterthought  of  history  when  we  are  told  that  he 
came  of  the  family  of  Cassius,  the  murderer  of  the  great 
Caesar,  and  that  like  his  ancestor  he  hated  the  very  name 
of  monarchy,  deploring  often  that  the  imperial  power 
rould  only  be  assailed  by  one  who  must  be  emperor 
himself.  It  is  idle  now  upon  such  evidence  as  we  pos- 
sess to  speculate  upon  his  motives,  or  to  say  how  far 
personal  ambition  was  disguised  by  larger 
and  unselfish  aims.  Of  Marcus  Aurelius  he  0f  the  motives 
seldom  spoke,  at  least  in  public,  save  in  re-    of  the  mo.ve- 

1  *  '  ment,  which 

spectful    tones,   and    only   appealed    to    his    soon  failed. 

■t  i  r    i  A  D-  x75- 

partisans  to  rally  round   him  when   a  raise 
rumour  of  the  prince's  death  was  spread  abroad. 

The  movement  was  short-lived,  threatening  as  was  its 
march  at  first.  It  spread  through  Syria  without  let  or 
hindrance,  and  all  beyond  the  Taurus  was  won  by  the 


ii2  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

usurper's  arms.  It  seemed  that  there  was  no  time  to  be 
lost;  and  ttie  Emperor  was  on  his  way  to  face  the  strug* 
gle  in  which  an  empire  was  at  stake,  when  the  news  came 
that  Cassius  was  no  more,  having  met  an  inglorious 
death  by  the  hand  of  a  petty  officer  of  his  own  army, 
the  victim  of  revenge  more  probably  than 
^"vSTovin-  loyal  feeling.  The  Emperor  heard  the  ti- 
dictive  feeling,    dings  calmly>  showed  regret  at  the  death  of 

the  pretender,  and  would  sanction  no  vindictive  mea- 
sures, though  Faustina,  whom  idle  rumour  has  accused 
of  urging  Cassius  to  revolt,  had  written  to  him  before  in 
a  tone  of  passionate  resentment,  praying  him  not  to 
spare  the  traitor,  but  to  think  of  the  safety  of  his  chil- 
dren. He  answered  her  with  tenderness,  chiding  her 
gently  for  her  revengeful  language,  and  reminding  her 
that  mercy  was  the  blessed  prerogative  of  imperial 
power.  He  wrote  in  a  like  spirit  to  the  Senate  also,  to 
let  its  members  know  that  he  would  have  no  sentence 
of  attainder  passed  on  the  wife  or  children  of  the  fallen 
leader,  and  no  proscription  of  his  partisans.  For  himseli 
he  only  wished  that  none  had  died  already,  to  rob  him 
of  his  privilege  of  mercy,  and  now  he  was  resolved  that 
in  that  cause  no  more  blood  should  flow.  The  Senate 
read  his  words  with  gladness,  were  well  pleased  to  drop 
the  veil  on  the  intrigues  in  which  some  of  their  own 
body  were  concerned,  and  carefully  entered  on  their 
minutes  all  th*i  dutiful  phrases  and  ejaculations  in  which 
the  counsellors  showed  their  thankfulness  and  admira- 
tion. The  letters  and  despatches  of  the  rebel,  which 
were  full,  probably,  of  fatal  evidence  against  his  accom- 
plices in  the  army  or  at  Rome,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
governor  of  Syria,  or  some  said  of  the  Emperor  himself, 
but  were  V'irnt  without  delay  to  relieve  the  fears  of  the 
surviv>rA£ 


J47-I8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  113 

The  people  of  Antioch  had  sided  eagerly  with  Cassius, 
and  used  their  wit   111  contemptuous  jest  against   their 
prince,  moving  him  to  resent  tiieir  disloyalty 
by  forbidding  for  a  while  all  public  gather-   j^^JS 
ings  for  business  or  pleasure.     Soon,  how-    order  in 

1  1  1  1  •    •        1      1  the  East. 

ever,  he  relented,  and  even  visited  the  city, 
when  he  passed  by  in  his  state  progress  to  restore  order 
to  the  troubled  East.  Now  for  the  first  time  in  his  career 
could  he  set  foot  in  those  far-off  regions,  and  wander 
among  the  memories  of  ancient  peoples.  Before  he 
left  Rome,  as  it  would  seem,  he  had  the  tribunician  title 
conferred  on  Commodus,  the  son  who  was  soon  to  take 
his  place,  and  then  more  than  a  year  was  spent  in  the 
loner  iourney.     His  wife  Faustina  died  upon    __. 

°  J  J  r  His  wife 

the  way,  at  a  tiny  village  near  the  range  of   Faustina 

.  ,     .      .  c  .  died  upon 

Taurus,  which  was  raised,  in  honour  ot  her,  the  way. 
to  the  dignity  of  a  city  and  a  colony.  For  A- D' 1?> 
the  empress  herself  the  Senate  passed,  at  his  request, 
the  solemn  vote  which  raised  her  to  the  rank  of  the  im- 
mortals, and  one  of  the  sculptures  of  his  triumphal  arch 
pourtrayed  her  as  borne  aloft  to  heaven  by  the  guardian 
arms  of  Fame. 

He  took  Egypt  in  his  homeward  way,  and  at  Alexan- 
dria was  willing  to  forget  the  signs  of  sympathy  which 
the  citizens  had  shown  his  rival,  leaving  his  daughter  to 
their  care  in  token  of  the  confidence  with  which  he 
trusted  them.  At  Smyrna  he  wished  to  hear  the  emi- 
nent Aristides  lecture,  whose  vanity  was  such  that  he 
would  only  consent  to  speak  while  attended  with  a  long 
train  of  pupils,  who  must  have  free  liberty  to  clap  him 
when  they  would.  The  Emperor  let  them  all  in  willingly 
enough,  and  himself  gave  the  signal  for  applause  at  the 
eloquent  periods  of  the  famous  sophist. 

As  Athens,  where  he  left  some  lasting  traces  of  his 


H4  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

visit  in  the  endowment  of  professorial  chairs,  he  had  him- 
self admitted  to  the  Eleusinian  mysteries,  whose  vener- 
able symbols  might  haply  shadow  forth  to  his  inquiring 
fancy  some  new  beliefs  or  hopes  about  the  world  unseen. 
For  more  than  a  year  the  Emperor  had  rest  at  Rome, 
and  signalised  his  period  of  repose  by  charitable  cares 
for  the.  Puellce   Fausti?iia?ice,  the  poor  girls 

During  his  ,  ,  ,    .  rl  .         .r 

short  rest  at  who  were  to  be  reared  in  memory  of  his  wife, 
f707mhe  AD-'  an<^  ^ear  her  name-  We  may  see  at  Rome 
endowed  a  bas-relief  in  which  the    sculptor's  fancy 

trie  x  ueli3e 

Faustinianse       has  pourtrayed  the  maidens  clustering  round 

and  married         .1  i  i         i  1  •  , 

his  son  the  noble  dame,  and  pouring  corn  into  the 

Commodus,       folds  of  tjie  garment  which  one  of  them  is 

holding  for  the  purpose.  The  medals  also  of  the  year 
record  the  liberal  largess  given  to  the  populace  of  Rome  at 
the  festivities  which  followed  the  marriage  of  the  youthful 
Commodus,  on  which  occasion  the  bonds  which  the  state 
held  against  its  debtors  were  thrown  into  the  fire  in  the 
forum,  while  similar  munificence  was  shown  in  helping 
the  ruined  Smyrna  to  rise  once  more  in  its  old  stately 
beauty  after  the  havoc  caused  by  a  great  earthquake. 

Meantime  the  thunder-clouds  were  gathering  on  the 

northern  frontier,  and   the   military  chiefs  were  anxious 

to  have  the  Emperor  again  upon  the  scene. 

but  had  Once  more   he    started  for  the  seat  of  war, 

soon  to  v/llv'v'  ' 

start  again         after  observing  with  a  scrupulous  care  the 

for  the  &  ,     .  ™. 

northern  ceremonial  customs  of  old  time,    ilie  spear- 

wars'  head   taken  from    the  shrine  of  Mars   was 

dipped  in  blood  and  hurled  by  the  prince's  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  hostile  borders,  within  which  in  the 
earlier  days  of  the  Republic  the  lance  itself  was  flung  as 
a  symbol  of  the  war  thereby  declared.  Once  more  victory 
crowned  the  efforts  of  the  Roman  leaders,  and  the  title 
of  Imj)e?'ator  was  taken  for  the  tenth  time  by  the  prince. 


i47_I8°'      Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  115 

The  war  itself  seemed  well-nigh  over,  but  M.  Aurelius 
was  not  permitted  to  survive  it. 

While   in  Pannonia,  either  at  Vienna  or  at  Sirmium, 
he  was  struck  down  by  disease,  probably  by  the  plague, 
whose  ravages  may  still  be  traced  along  those  countries 
by  the  evidence  of  old   inscriptions.     Dion  Cassius,  as 
usual,  takes  up  the  vilest  story  he  can  find, 
and  charges  Commodus  with   parricide,  in    sJJn,*38 
the  form  of  poison  given  by  a  doctor's  hand,    down  on  his 
Other  writers    tell   us   only  that  the  dying    a.d.'iSo. 
Emperor's  son  showed  little  feeling,  save  the 
selfish  wish  to  escape  from  the  danger  of  contagion  by  a 
speedy  flight.     When  the   friends  who    were   gathered 
round   his  deathbed  asked  whom  he  wished  to  be  the 
guardians  of  his   young   successor,    he    answered  only 
"  Yourselves,  if  he  be  worthy  ;"  then  drawing  his  Stoic 
mantle  round  his  head,  he  died  as  he  had  lived,  with 
gentle  dignity.     His  health  had  never  been  robust,  and 
it  was  sorely  tried  by  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life,  by 
hurried  journeys  to  and    fro,   and   the   rigour    of  those 
winters  by  the  Danube.     His  resolute  spirit  had  drawn 
thus   far   on  its    reserves   of  moral    force    to   keep  the 
frail  body  to  its  work,  but  the  keen  blade  wore  out  its 
sheath  at  last. 

The    Romans   mourned   their   Emperor   as  they  had 
seldom  mourned  for  one  before,  yet  on  the  day  when  the 
funeral  procession  passed   along  the  streets 
they  abstained  from  outward  show  of  grief,       grief eof  hU 
convinced  as  they  were,  says  his  biographer,       suhJects- 
that  heaven  had  only  lent  him  for  a  time,  and  taken  him 
soon  back  again  to  his  own  place  among  the  immortal 
gods.     "You    also,"    adds    the    writer,  ad- 
dressing Diocletian  his  prince,  "regard  M.    /inl;  Jajjtt0* 
Aurelius  as  a  god,  and  make  him  the  object 


n6  The  Age  of  the  A?ito?iines.  a.d, 

of  a  special  worship,  praying  oftentimes  that  you  may 
copy  the  virtues  of  a  ruler  whom  Plato  himself  with  all 
his  lessons  of  philosophy,  could  not  excel." 

In  honour  of  the  victories  which  his  arms  had  won 
^L  over  the  formidable  warriors  of  those  border 

lne  monu- 
ments in  his       lands,  great  monuments  were  raised  at  Rome. 

One  of  these,  an  arch  of  triumph,  stood  for 
nearly  fifteen  centuries  till  a  Pope  (Alexander  VII.), 
ordered  it  to  be  thrown  down,  because  it  was  thought  to 
block  the  way  through  which  in  days  of  carnival  the 
crowds  of  masked  revellers  used  to  pass.  "  The  arch," 
says  a  modern  writer,  "had  happily  escaped  the  barba- 
rians, the  mediaeval  times,  the  Renaissance  ;  but  a  Pope 
was  found  not  only  to  lay  bold  hands  upon  it,  but  to 
have  the  naivete  to  take  credit  to  himself  for  doing  so  in 
an  inscription  which  the  curious  still  may  read  upon  the 
site." 

A  second  monument  is  standing  still,  but  the  papal 
government  which  dealt  so  hardly  with  the  arch  of  tri- 
umph, tried  to  rob  the  Emperor  of  this  glory  also,  for  the 
title  carved  upon  his  column  by  the  order  of  a  second 
Pope  (Sixtus  V.)  ascribes  the  work  to  Antoninus  Pius. 
Like  Trajan's  column,  of  which  it  is  a  copy,  it  is  formed 
of  cylinders  of  marble  piled  upon  each  other,  round 
which  is  coiled  in  spiral  form  a  long  series  of  bas-reliefs 
which  illustrate  the  Marcomannic  war.  The  literary 
records  of  the  ten  years'  struggle  are  too  meagre  to  en- 
able us  to  give  their  local  colour  to  the  scenes  pictorially 
rendered  ;  the  sculptured  figures.too  complacently  exhibit 
the  unvarying  success  of  Roman  armies  to  represent  with 
fairness  a  war  in  which  the  German  and  Sarmatian  tribes 
tasked  year  after  year  the  military  resources  of  the  Em- 
pire. One  set  of  images  there  is  which  frequently  recurs 
in  varying  forms,  and  we  may  trust  to  these  as  evidence 


i47""ISo.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  117 

of  the  constant  hindrance  to  the  forward  movement  of 
the  legions  in  the  wild  lands  beyond  the  Danube.  The 
broad  current  of  the  great  river  and  its  tributary  streams, 
the  uncleared  forest,  and  the  dangerous  morasses,  are 
often  shown  in  symbolic  guise  upon  the  column,  and  in 
these  Roman  vanity  was  ready  to  admit  the  obstacles  and 
perils  which  carried  with  them  no  dishonourto  the  eagles. 
Trophies  of  war  were  little  suited  to  the  character  of 
such  a  ruler,  but  happily  we  have  a  worthier  monument 
in  the  "  Thoughts  "  or  "  Meditations  "  which,  intended 
for  no  eye  but  his,  reflect  his  passing  sentiments  from  day 
to  day.  Written  here  and  there  in  the  moments  of  his 
leisure,  sometimes  on  the  eve  of  battle  in    __.    „,.   ,. 

His  "  Medita- 
the  general's  tent,  sometimes  in  the  dreary    tions" are  afar 

.  111  worthier  mon- 

monotony    of  winter    quarters   and    by    the    Ument  of  his 
morasses   of  the   Danube,  they  have   little   semus' 
nicety  of  style  or  literary  finish,  they  contain  no  system 
of  philosophy  set  off  with  parade  of  dialectic  fence ;  but 
there  is  in  them  what  is  better  far,  the  truthful  utterance 
of  an  earnest    soul,   which  would  lay    bare 

,  ,         ,  r  '.       reflecting  his 

its  inmost  thoughts,  study  the  secrets  ot  its    habits  of 
strength  and  weakness,  and  be  by  turns  the    ^^se1f" 
accused,  the  witness,  advocate  and  judge. 

Self-enquiry  such  as  this  had  been  of  old  the  favourite 
tenet  of  Pythagorean  schools,  it  had  been  pressed  by 
Socrates  upon  his  age  with  a  sort  of  missionary  fervour, 
it  had  since  passed  almost  as  a  commonplace  into  the 
current  systems  of  the  day,  and  become  a  recognised 
duty  with  the  earnest-minded,  just  as  the  practice  of  con- 
fession in  the  Church  of  Rome.  With  M.  Aurelius  it 
was  a  lifelong  habit,  and  covered  the  whole  range  of 
thought  ana   action.     "  How  hast  thou  be- 

jVIedit.  v.  31. 

haved   thus   far,"  he    asks  himself,  "  to    the 

gods,  thy   parents,  brethren,  children,  teachers,  to  those 


ti8  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

who  looked  after  thy  infancy,  to  thy  friends,  kinsfolk,  to 
thy  slaves  ?  Think  if  thou  hast  hitherto  behaved  to  all 
in  such  a  way  that  this  may  be  said  of  thee, 

Ne'er  has  he  wronged  a  man  in  word  or  deed. 

Call  to  recollection  how  many  things  thou  hast  passed 
through,  and  what  thou  hast  been  able  to  endure,  and 
that  the  history  of  thy  life  is  fully  told  and  thy  service 
drawing  to  its  close  ;  think  how  many  fair  things  thou 
hast  seen,  and  how  many  pleasures  and  pains  thou  hast 
despised;  how  much  that  the  world  holds  in  honour  thou 
hast  spurned  ;  and  with  how  many  ill-minded  folks  thou 
hast  dealt  kindly."  In  the  course  of  such  reflections  he 
recurs  with  tender  gratitude  to  the  memory  of  those  who 
watched  over  his  early  years,  or  helped  to 
gratitude  to  all  form  his  character  or  enrich  his  thought ;  to 
friends0 and'  ^he  g°°d  parents,  teachers,  kinsmen,  friends, 
kinsmen  who     for  the  blessings  of  whose  care  he  thanks  the 

had  helped 

to  form  his  gods  so  fervently,  while  he  dwells  fondly  on 
the  features  of  the  moral  character  of  each. 
He  speaks  of  his  mother's  cheerful  piety  and  kindly  tem- 
per, of  the  instinctive  delicacy  with  which  she  shunned 
not  the  practice  merely  but  the  thought  of  evil,  of  how 
she  spent  with  him  the  last  years  of  her  short  life,  guard- 
ing the  virgin  modesty  of  his  young  mind,  that  he  might 
grow  up  with  the  purity  of  his  manhood  unbefouled. 

The   twenty  years   of  unbroken    intercourse  with  his 
adoptive  father  had  not  faded  from  his  thoughts  when 
he  penned  in  all  sincerity  these  graceful  lines  : 
.,  ,.„  "  Do  everything  as  a  pupil  of  Antoninus- 

Medit.  vi.  30.  }  &  "    r 

Remember  his  constancy  in  every  act  whicn 
was  conformable  to  reason,  his  evenness  in  all  things, 
his  piety,  the  serenity  of  his  countenance,  his  sweetness, 
his   disregard  of  empty  fame,  and  his  efforts  to  under- 


1 4  7  - 1 8  o .       Marcus  Aureiius  A  ntoninus.  119 

stand  things  duly ;  how  he  would  let  nothing  pass  with- 
out having  first  most  carefully  examined  it  and  clearly 
understood  it ;  how  he  bore  with  those  who  blamed  him 
unjustly  without  blaming  them  in  return;  how  he  did 
nothing  in  a  hurry;  how  he  listened  not  to  calumnies, 
and  how  exact  an  examiner  of  manners  and  actions  he 
was;  not  given  to  reproach  people,  nor  timid,  nor  sus- 
picious, nor  a  sophist ;  how  he  bore  with  freedom  of 
speech  in  those  who  opposed  his  judgments  ;  the  pleasure 
that  he  had  when  any  man  showed  him  anything  better  ; 
and  how  religious  he  was,  without  superstition.  Imitate 
all  this,  that  in  thy  last  hour  thou  mayest  have  as  good 
a  conscience  as  he  had." 

He  speaks  too  in  later  years  with  thankfulness  of  his 
aged  guardian's  care,  which  would  not  trust  him  to  the 
risks  and  uncertainties  of  the  public  schools,  but  grudged 
no  outlay  on  his  education,  supplying  him  with  the  best 
teachers  of  the  day  at  home. 

As  he  passes  in  memory  over  the  long  list  of  these, 
he  does  not  care  to  dwell  upon  the  order  of  his  studies, 
or  how  much  he  learnt  from  each  of  them  of  the  stores 
of  art  and  learning,  but  he  tries  rather  to  remember  in 
each  case  what  was  or  might  have  been  the  moral  im- 
press on  his  character  from  the  examples  of  their  lives 

His  governor,  he  says,  gave  him  a  distaste  for  the  pas- 
sionate excitement  of  the  circus  or  the  gladiators'  fights, 
taught  him  to  "endure  labour,  and  want 
little ;  to  work  with  his  own  hands,  and  not 
to  meddle  with  the  affairs  of  others,  or  listen  readily  to 
slander.''  Diognetus  turned  his  thoughts  from  the  trifles 
to  the  realities  of  life,  introduced  him  to  philosophy,  and 
made  him  feel  the  value  of  ascetic  training,  of  the  coarse 
dress  and  the  hard  pallet  bed.  Fronto  meantime  was 
leading  him    to   note    "  what   envy  and   duplicity   and 


120  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

hypocrisy  are  in  a  tyrant,  and  how  commonly  the  nobles 
of  the  day  are  wanting  in  parental  love.'V^From  Severus 
he  learnt  to  admire  the  great  men  of  the  past — Thrasea, 
Helvidius,  Cato,  Brutus;  'and  from  him  I  received  the 
idea  of  a  polity  in  which  there  is  the  same  law  for  all, 
a.  polity  administered  with  regard  to  equal  rights  and 
freedom  of  speech,  and  the  idea  of  a  kingly  government." 
Rusticus,  who  did  him  the  good  service  of  introducing 
him  to  the  mind  of  Epictetus  as  expressed  in  the  memoirs 
of  his  pupils,  led  him  to  see  the  vanity  of  sophistic  emu- 
lation and  display.  In  the  example  of  "  Apollonius  he  saw 
that  the  same  man  can  be  most  resolute  and  yielding  ;" 
he  had  before  his  eyes  a  teacher  who  regarded  his  skill 
and  experience  in  instruction  as  the  smallest  of  his 
merits;  and  from  him  he  learnt  "  how  to  receive  from 
friends  what  are  thought  favors,  without  being  either 
humbled  by  them  or  letting  them  pass  unnoticed."  In 
Sextus  he  saw  the  beauty  of  a  genial  courtesy,  and  "had 
the  example  of  a  family  governed  in  a  fatherly  manner, 
and  of  living  conformably  to  nature,  and  gravity  without 
affectation.  He  had  the  power  of  accommodating  him- 
self readily  to  all.  so  that  intercourse  with  him  was  more 
agreeable  than  any  flattery  ;  and  at  the  same  time  he 
was  most  highly  venerated  by  those  who  associated  with 
him." 

Alexander  the  grammarian  never  used  "to  chide  those 
who  uttered  any  barbarous  or  strange-sounding  phrase  ; 
but  dexterously  introduced  the  very  expression  which 
ought  to  have  been  used,  in  the  way  of  answer  or  assent, 
or  joining  in  enquiry  about  the  thing  itself,  and  not  about 
the  word."  In  Maximus  he  saw  unvarying  cheerfulness, 
"  and  a  just  admixture  of  sweetness  and  of  dignity  hi 
the  moral  character.  He  was  beneficent,  ready  to  for- 
give, free  from  falsehood,  and  presented  the  appearance 


i47_ISo.      Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  121 

of  a  man  who  could  not  be  diverted  from  the  right, 
rather  than  of  one  who  had  been  improved."  Finally, 
after  the  long  survey  of  all  the  influences  of  earlier  days, 
he  thanks  the  powers  of  heaven  for  all  "  their  gifts  and 
inspirations,"  which  tended  to  make  the  path  of  duty 
easy,  "though  I  still  fall  short  of  it  through  my  own 
fault,  and  from  not  observing  the  admonitions,  or  I  may 
almost  say,  the  direct  instructions  of  the  gods." 

Few  who  have  read  the  remaining  Meditations  can 
think  that  M.  Aurelius  is  here  numbering  complacently 
his  own  good  qualities  of  heart  and  temper,  or  throwing 
a  decent  cloak  over  his  praises  of  himself.  There  is  a 
danger  doubtless  that  the  habit  of  constant 
introspection  may  lead  to  vanity,  or  at  least    Thei'?  is  no 

1  J  J  morbid  vanity 

to    a    morbid    persistency    of    self-centred    or  self-love  in 

,.  .  i-i  i        r        1  1  ■         1        such  oblique 

thought   which    may  be  fatal  to   the  simple    reference  to 
naturalness  of  healthy  action.     But  in  this    qJiklities 
case  at  least  there  are  no  traces  of  such  in- 
fluence. The  candour  of  his  early  youth  seems  reflected  in 
the  utterances  of  later  years.    He  has  a  lively 
horror  of  deceit  and  affectation,  would  have 
his  soul  be  "  simple  and  single  and  naked,  more  mani- 
fest than  the  body  which  surrounds  it,"  so 
that  the  character  may  be   written  on  the      xu  15' 
forehead  as  "  true  affection  reads  everything  in  the  eyes 
of  those  it  loves." 

He  wonders  "  how  it  is  that  every  man  loves  himself 
more  than  all  the  rest  of  men,  but  yet  sets  less  value  on 
his  own  opinion  of  himself  than  on  the  judg- 
ment of  the  world.  If  a  god  or  a  wise  teach-  xu'  4' 
er  should  present  himself  to  a  man,  and  bid  him  think 
of  nothing  and  design  nothing  which  he  would  not  ex- 
press as  soon  as  he  conceived  it,  he  could  not  bear  it 
even  for  a  single  day.     So  much  more  respect  have  we 


122  The  Age  of  the  Anto?iines.  A.Dt 

to  what  our  neighbours  shall  think  of  us  than  to  what  we 
shall  think  of  our  own  selves." 

There  is  yet  another  danger,  which  is  very  real,  when 

earnest  thought  broods  intently  upon  moral  action,  and 

•     dissects  its  motives  and  its  aims.  It  often  ends 

and  no  .  ,  .  . 

?\nuue  self-        in  seeing  mainly  what  is  mean  and  selfish,  in 
o?npessi-  having  eyes  only  for  the  baser  side  of  human 

mism,  nature,  in  becoming  fretful  and  suspicious, 

or  in  feeding  an  intellectual   pride  by  stripping   off  what 
seem  the  mere  disguises  of  hypocrisy  and  fashion,  and 
pointing   to    the    cankerworm    of  selfishness   in   all   the 
flowers  and  fruits  of  social  life.     Do  we  find  anything  in 
these  Meditations  which  may  point  to  such  painfulness 
of  self- contempt,  or  to  any  impatient  scorn  of  the  petti- 
ness and  vices  of  the  men  and  women  whom  he  knew  ? 
A  pure  and  noble  nature  such  as  his  could  not  but  be 
keenly  sensitive  to  evil,  and  he  does  not  shrink  from 
speaking  of  it  often.   "  Begin  the  morning  by 
saying  to  thyself,  I  shall  meet  with  the  busy- 
body, the  ungrateful,  arrogant,  deceitful,  envious,  unso- 
cial," but  he  goes  on  to  find  a  motive  for 
wa"oftene  patience  and   forbearance.     He   was   often 

wearvof  S-IC^   an(j   weary    it   would  seem,  of  social 

the  evil.  ■" 

troubles  and  of  uncongenial  work.  Men 
s,eek  retreats  for  themselves,  houses  in  the  country,  sea- 
shores and  mountains  ;  and  thou  too  art  wont  to  desire 
such  things  very  much.  ...  It  is  in  thy  power 
whenever  thou  shalt  choose  to  retire  into 
thyself.  For  nowhere  either  with  more  quiet  or  more 
freedom  from  troubles  does  a  man  retire  than  into  his 
own  soul.  Constantly  then  give  thyself  this  retreat,  and 
renew  thyself;  and  let  thy  principles  be  brief  and  fun- 
damental, which,  as  soon  as  thou  shalt  recur  to  them, 
will  be  sufficient  to  cleanse  the  soul  completely,  and  to 


r  4  7  - 1 8  o .       Marcus  A  u  relius  A  ntoninus.  123 

send  thee  back  free  from  all  discontent  with  the  things 
to  which  thou  returnest."     He  would  find  rest  and  com- 
fort in  a  larger,  more  hopeful  view  of  things.     "  There 
are   briers    in    the    road — turn     aside    from 
them.     Do    not   add,  And   why  were    such 
things  made  in  the  world  ?     For  thou  wilt  be  ridiculed 
by  a  man  who  is  acquainted  with  nature,  as  thou  wouldst 
be  by  a  carpenter  or  a  shoemaker  if  thou 
didst    find    fault    because    in    his  workshop       tried  to  be 
there  were  to  be  seen  shavings  and  cuttings 
from  the  things  which  he  was   making."     He    exhorts 
himself  to  imitate  the  patience  of  the  powers  of  heaven. 
"  The  gods  who  are  immortal  are  not  vexed 
because    during   so   long  a  time  they  must 
tolerate  continually  men  such  as  they  are,  and  so  many 
of  them  bad  ;  and  be-ides  this,  they  also  take  care  of 
them  in  all  wavs.     But  thou,  who  art  destined  to  end  so 
soon,  art  thou  weary  of  enduring  the  bad,  and  this  too 
when  thou  art  one  of  them  ?"     But  above  all  he  would 
aim  at  cheerfulness  in  the  thoughts  of  what  is  good  and 
noble.     "  When  thou  wishest  to  delight  thy- 
self, think  of  the  virtues  of  those  who  live 
with  thee ;  for  instance,  the  activity  of  one,    and  cheerful- 
and    the    modesty  of  another,   and    the   liberality  of  a 
third,  and  some   other  good   quality  of  a    fourth.     For 
nothing  delights  so  much  as  the  examples  of  the  virtues, 
when  they  are  set  before  us  in  the  morals  of  those  who 
live  with  us." 

But  M.    Aurelius  felt  the    cares    of  state 

1  1  -ii  •>   •  ir    •         i        t      1  He  would 

too  deeply  to  indulge  himself  in  the  listless  not  indulge 
contemplation  which  might  unnerve  him  for  listless  con- 
the  work  of  life.     He  bids    himself  "  not  to       temptation, 

but   re- 
be    a  man  of  many  words,  or  busy  about       memi  er  the 

1   •  it    1  ti         ..       V,  naI"d  work 

many  things,     but  to    act   like    'a   Roman       of  life 


124  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

and  a  ruler,  who  has  taken  his  post  like  a 
in.  5.  .  .  L 

man  waiting  for  the  signal  which  summons 
him  from  life."     Or  again  :    "In  the  morn- 
ing when    thou  risest  unwillingly,  let  this   thought  be 
present.     I  am  rising  to  a  man's  work.     Why  then    am 
I  dissatisfied  if  I  am  going  to  do  the  things  for  which  I 
exist,  and  for  which  I  was  brought  into  the  world  ?     Or 
have  I  been  made  for  this,  to  lie  in  the  bedclothes  and 
keep  myself  warm  ?     Those  who  love  their  several  arts 
exhaust  themselves  in  working  at  them  unwashed  and 
without  food.     But  are  the  acts  which  concern   society 
more  vile  in  thy  eyes  and  less  worthy  of  thy  labour?" 
Again :    "  Reverence    the    gods    and   help 
men.     Take  care   that   thou  art  not   made 
into  a  Caesar.''  And  to  throw  light  upon  his  meaning,  we 
may  read  the   strong  words  which    are  poured   out  so 
abruptly  :  "  A  black  character ;  a  womanish 
character;     a  stubborn    character;    bestial, 
childish,  animal,   stupid,    counterfeit,  scurrilous,  fraudu- 
lent, tyrannical !" 

In  the    fulness  of  time  philosophy  was  seated  in  his 

person  on  the  throne,  but  he  was  too  wise  to  entertain 

heroic  aims  and  hopes  of  moulding-  human 

ix.  29.  l  & 

nature  like  the  potter's  clay.     *'  How  worth- 
He  was  not  ,  ... 

too  ambitious  less  are  all  these  poor  people  who  are  en- 
Lrhis0ahimSful  gaSed  in  politics,  and,  as  they  think,  are 
playing  the  philosopher!  .  .  .  Do  not  expect 
Plato's  Republic,  but  be  content  if  the  least  thing  goes 
well,  and  consider  such  an  event  to  be  no  small  matter. 
For  who  can  change  men's  opinions ;  and  without  a 
change  of  opinion  what  else  is  there  than  the  slavery  of 
men  who  groan  while  they  are  pretending  to  obey  ? 
Draw  me  not  aside  to  insolence  and  pride.  Simple  and 
modest  is  the  work  of  philosophy."     Hovv  modest  was 


1 47- 1 80 .       Marcus  Aurelius  A ntojiinus.  125 

its  aim,  how  far  from  all  Utopian  fancies  of  the  use  of 
force,  we  may  gather  from  another  passage  : 
"  What  will  the  most  violent  man  do  to  thee 
if  thou  art  still  kindly  towards  him,  and  if,  as  opportunity 
occurs,  thou  gently  admonishest  him  and  calmly  cor- 
rectest  his  errors  at  the  very  time  when  he  is  trying  to  do 
thee  harm,  saying,  Not  so,  my  child  ;  we  are  made  by 
Nature  for  something  else  :  I  shall  certainly  not  be 
harmed,  but  thou  art  injuring  thyself?  Show  him  by 
gentle  tact  and  by  general  principles  that  this  is  so,  and 
that  even  bees  do  not  as  he  does,  nor  any  animals  of 
social  nature.  This  thou  must  do  affectionately  and 
without  any  rancour  in  thy  soul ;  and  not  as  if  thou  wert 
lecturing  him,  nor  yet  that  any  bystander  may  admire.'' 
"  The  kingdom  of  heaven  cometh  not  with  observa- 
tion."  Not  by  the  strong  hand  of  the  master  of  thirty 
legions,  nor  by  the  voice  of  the  imperial  lawgiver,  but  by 
the  softer  influence  of  loving  hearts  like  his,  was  the 
spirit  of  a  nobler  manhood  to  be  spread  on  earth.  For 
when  he  speaks,  as  he  often  does,  of  charity,    ,     ,  „    . 

r  '  J       but  full  of 

his  words  are  not  the  old  commonplaces  of   tender  charity 
the  schools,  but  tender  phrases  full  of  deli-    tionsof 
cate    refinement   and    enthusiastic    ardour,    fe^'ian 
such  as   no  work  of    heathendom  can  vie 
with,  such  as  need  but  little   change  of  words  to  bring 
before  us  the  most  characteristic  graces  of 'the  Gospel 
standard.     "  Think  of  thyself  not  as  a  part 

Vll      I  ^  ■ 

merely  of  the  world,  but  as  a  member  of 
the  human  body,  else  thou  dost  not  yet  love  men  from  thy 
heart ;  to  do  good  does  not  delight  thee  for  its  own  sake ; 
thou  doest  it  still  barely  as  a  thing  of  propriety,  and  not 
yet  as  doing  good  to  thine  own  self."  What  is  this  but 
the  well-known  thought,  "  If  one  member  suffer,  all  the 
members  suffer  with  it  ?" 


126  The  Age  of  tlie  Antonines.  a.d. 

"As  a  dog  when  he  has  tracked  the  game,  as  a  bee 
when  he  has  made  the  honey,  so  a  man  when  he  has 
done  a  good  act  does  not  call  out  for  others 
to  come  and  see,  but  goes  on  to  another  act 
as  a  vine  goes  on  to  produce  again  the  grapes  in  season. 
Must  a  man  then  be  one  of  these,  who  in  a  manner  act 
thus  without  observing  it?  Yes.''  Here  we  seem  to 
hear  the  precept,  "  Let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy 
right  hand  doeth." 

Again,  on  the  duty  of  forgiveness  :  "  When  a.  man  has 

done  thee  any  wrong,  immediately  consider  with  what 

opinion    about  good    or  evil    he    has  done 

wrong.     For  when  thou  hast  seen  this  thou 

wilt  pity  him,  and  wilt  neither  wonder  nor  be  angry.     It 

is  thy   duty  then  to  pardon   him."     Translate  this  into 

Christian  language,  and  we  have  the  words,  "  Forgive 

them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do."     Or 

again  :  "  Suppose  that  men  kill  thee,  curse 

thee.  .  .  If  a  man  should  stand   by  a  pure  spring   and 

curse  it,  the  spring  never  ceases  sending  up  wholesome 

water;  and  if  he  should  cast  clay  into  it  or  filth,  it  will 

speedily  disperse  them,  and  wash  them  out,  and  will  not 

be    at  all   polluted."     Surely  this  is  a  variation   on  the 

theme,  "  Bless  them  that  curse  you  and  despitefully  use 

you." 

It  was  the  ardour  of  this  charity  which  kept  from  ex- 
travagance cr  bitterness  his   sense   of  the   pettiness  of 
all  the  transitory  interests  of  earth.     For  he 
fromTxtrava-     often  has  his  mystic  moods  in  which  he  feels 
-  ■  ce  or.hlt~      that  he    is  only  a    stranger    and   a   pilgrim 

ternesa    in  a;l  J  °  r     ° 

his  sense  of       iourneving  awhile  amid  vain  and  unsubstan- 

t'e  unreality  .    ,     ,    '  ~  •  ,  ,  •  r  tt 

of  earthiy  tial  snows.     "Consider  the  times  ot    V  espa- 

go°   '  sian.     Thou  wilt  see  all   these  things  ;  peo- 

ple marrying,  bringing  up   children,   sick,   dying,    war- 


I47_i8o-       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  127 

ring,  feasting,  trafficking,  flattering,  suspecting,  plotting, 
.  .  .  .  heaping  up  treasure,  grumbling  about 
the  present.  Well  then,  the  life  of  these 
people  is  no  more.  Pass  on  again  to  the  times  of  Tra- 
jan. Again  all  is  the  same.  Their  life  too  is  gone.  So 
view  also  the  other  epochs  of  time  and  of  whole  nations, 
and  see  how  many  after  great  efforts  fell,  and  were  re- 
solved into  the  elements For  all  things  soon  pass 

away  and  become  a  mere  tale,  and  complete  oblivion 
soon  buries  them  ....  What  then  is  that  about  which 
we  ought  to  employ  our  serious  pains  ?  This  one  thing; 
just  thoughts  and  social  acts,  and  words  which  never  lie, 
and  temper  which  accepts  gladly  all  that  happens.". 

Or  as  he  writes  elsewhere,  in  a  still  sadder  vein,  but 
with  the  same  moral  as  before  :  "  Soon,  very  soon,  thou 
wilt  be  ashes,  or  a  skeleton,  and  either  a  name 

v.  33. 

or  not  even  that ;  .  .  .  .  the  things  which 
are  much  prized  in  life  are  empty  and  rotten,  and  tri- 
fling, and  like  little  dogs  biting  one  another,  and  lit- 
tle children  quarrelling,  laughing,  and  then  straightway 
weeping.  But  fidelity  and  modesty  and  justice  and  truth 
are  fled 

Up  to  Olympus  from  the  wide-spread  earth. 

What  then  is  there  which  still  detains  thee  here  ?  .  .  .  . 
To  have  good  repute  amidst  such  a  world  as  this  is  an 
empty  thing.  Why  then  dost  thou  not  wait  in  tranquil- 
lity for  thy  end,  whether  it  be  extinction  or  removal  to 
another  state?  And  until  that  time  comes,  what  is  suf- 
ficient? Why,  what  else  than  to  venerate  the  gods  and 
bless  them,  and  to  do  good  to  men,  and  to  practise  toler- 
ance and  self-restraint."  He  wearies  of  his  books,  of 
the  life  of  courts,  of  dreams  of  glory  and  the  conquer- 
or's ambition,  of  the  blindness  and  waywardness  of  men. 


128  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

"  For  this  is  the  only  thing,  if  there  be  any. 

ix.  3.  . 

which  could  draw  us  the  contrary  way,  and 

attach  us  to  life,  to  be  permitted  to  live  with  those  who 
have  the  same  principles  as  ourselves.  But  now  thou 
seest  how  great  is  the  trouble  arising  from  the  discord- 
ance of  those  who  live  together,  so  that  thou  mayst  say, 
Come  quick,  O  death,  lest  perchance  I  too  should  forget 
myself." 

"  Vanity  of  vanities  !  all  here  is  vanity,"  he  seems  to 
say,     'save  reverence  and  charity  and  self-restraint;" 

but  true  to  his  Stoic  creed,  he  still  clings 
to'theThought  nrmly  t0  the  thought  that  there  is  a  Ruling 
ProavideUicef       Providence  and  Perfect  Wisdom,   which  is 

guiding  all  things  for  the  best,  although  its 
judgments  may  be  unsearchable  and  its  ways  past  find- 
ing out. 

It  is  the  peculiar  feature  of  his  character  that  this  re- 
ligious optimism  has  the  power  not  only  to  content  his 

reason,  but  to  stir  his  heart,  and  fill  it  at 
his  hear^with  times  to  overflowing  with  a  gush  of  tender- 
ancnrneSS  ness  and    love.     "  Everything    harmonises 

with  me  which  is  harmonious  to  thee,  O 
Universe.     Nothing  is  too  early  nor  too  late  for  me  which 

is  in  due  time  for  thee.   Everything  is  fruit  to 

me  which  thy  seasons  bring,  O  Nature ;  from 
thee  are  all  things ;  in  thee  are  all  things ;  to  thee  all  things 
return.  The  poet  says,  Dear  city  of  Cecrops ;  and  wilt  thou 

not  say,   Dear  city   of  Zeus?"     Or  again: 

"  What  is  it  to  me  to  live  in  a  universe  de- 
void of  gods  ?  .  .  .  But  in  truth  they  do  exist,  and  they 
do  care  for  human  things,  and  they  have  put  all  the 
means  in  man's  power  to  enable  him  not  to  fall  into  real 
evil." 

It  moves  his  heart  with  gratitude  to  think    that  the 


1 4  7  - 1 8  o .       Marcus  A  urelius  A  ntoninus .  129 

sinner  has  a  place  given  him  for  repentance,  and  may 
come  back  from  his  moral  isolation.  "  Suppose  that  thou 
hast  detached  thyself  from  the  natural  unity, 
yet  here  there  is  this  beautiful  provision, 
that  it  is  in  thy  power  again  to  unite  thyself.  God  has 
allowed  this  to  no  other  part,  after  it  has  been  cut  asun- 
der, to  come  together  again.  But  consider  the  kindness 
by  which  He  has  distinguished  man,  for  He  has  put  it 
in  his  power  not  to  be  parted  at  all  from  the  universal, 
and  when  he  has  been  parted,  He  has  allowed  him  to 
return  and  to  resume  his  place." 

This  reverent  tenderness  of  feeling  and  delicate  sym- 
pathy with  Nature  made  him  find  a  certain  loveliness  in 
things  which  had  no  beauty  to  the  ancient        ,  ,  ,. 

0  J  and  delicate 

world.     "  Even  the  things  which  follow  after    sympathy 

.  -  .  .  .  ,  .  with  Nature, 

those  of  natural  growth  contain  something 
pleasing  and  attractive.  .  .  Figs  when  they  ii;  2 
are  quite  ripe  gape  open  ;  and  in  the  ripe 
olives  the  very  circumstance  of  their  being  near  to  rot- 
tenness adds  a  peculiar  beauty  to  the  fruit.  The  ears  of 
corn  bending  down  and  the  lion's  eyebrows,  and  the 
foam  which  flows  from  the  mouths  of  wild  boars,  and 
many  other  things  .  .  .  consequent  upon  the  things 
which  are  formed  by  nature,  help  to  adorn  them,  and 
they  please  the  mind  ;  so  that  if  a  man  showed  a  feeling 
and  a  deeper  insight  .  .  .  there  is  hardly  one  of  those 
which  follow  by  way  of  natural  sequence  which  will 
not  seem  to  him  to  be  in  a  manner  so  disposed  as  to  give 
pleasure."  There  was  something  here  beyond  what  he 
had  learned  from  his  old  Stoic  masters.  They  had 
taught  him  that  the  world  was  ruled  bv  an  Intellect  Su- 
preme, with  which  it  was  man's  privilege,  as  it  was  his 
duty,  to  be  in  constant  unison  ;  but  their  phrases  were 
cold  and  hard  and  unimpassioned  till  they  were  trans- 


130  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ad. 

figured  by  his  moods  of  tender  fancy.  They  had  shown 
their  followers  how  to  meet  the  ills  of  life  with  dignity 
and  calm,  and  to  face  death  with  stern  composure,  if  tiot 
with  a  parade  of  tragic  pride,  as  if  philosophy  had  robbed 
their  last  enemy    of  his   fatal  sting.     But  it  is  a  gentler, 

humbler  voice  that  cries,  "  Pass  through  this 
lv'  48,  little  space  of  time    conformably  to  nature, 

and  end  thy  journey  in  content,  just  as  an  olive  falls  off 
when  it  is  ripe,  blessing  Nature  who  produced  it,  and 
thanking  the  tree  on  which  it  grew." 

Yet   withal  we  are  haunted  by  a  certain  melancholy 
which  runs  through  all  these  Meditations,  and  as  we  read 

his  earnest  words  we  feel  a  ring  of  sadness 

which  does  ,    . 

not  however  sounding  in  our  ears,  ror  he  had  hopes 
certain6  *  and    aspirations    for  which  the  Stoic  creed 

melancholy  cou]d   fin(j  nQ   place  .    an(j    he  sorely  felt  the 

problems  which  his  reason  could  not  solve.     "  How  can 

it  be  that  the  gods,  after  having  arranged  all  things  well 

and   benevolently   for  mankind,    have   overlooked  this 

alone,  that  some  men,  and  very  good  men, 

xii.  5-  j  , 

and  men  who,  as  we  may  say,  have  had 
most  communion  with  the  Deity,  and  through  pious  acts 
and  religious  observances  have  been  most  intimate  with 
the  Deity,  when  they  have  once  died  should  never  live 
again,  but  should  be  quite  extinguished?"  He  would 
fain  hush  to  rest  such  yearning  doubts,  but  the  heart 
probably  remained  unconvinced  by  the  poor  logic  which 
his  reason  had  to  offer.  "  But  if  this  is  so,  be  assured 
that  if  it  ought  to  have  been  otherwise,  the  gods  would 
have  done  it.  .  .  .  But  because  it  is  not  so,  if  in  fact  it 
is  not  so,  be  thou  convinced  that  it  ought  not  to  have 
been  so." 

At  times  too  there  is  something  very  sad  in  the  con- 
fessions of  his  lonely  isolation,  for  the  air  is  keen  and 


!47-I8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  13  J 

chilling  on  the  heights  to  which  he  towered 

by  character  as  well  as  station.     "Live  as    and  sense 

J  ot  isolation. 

on  a  mountain.  .   .  .  Let  men  see,  let  them 

know  a  real  man  who  lives  according  to  Nature.     If  they 

cannot  endure  him,  let  them  kill  him.     For 

Y       T  C 

that  is  better  than  to  live  thus."     Or  again 
"Thou  wilt  consider  this  then  when  thou  art  dying,  and 
thou  wilt  depart  more  contentedly  by  reflect- 
ing thus.     I  am  going  away  from  such  a  life, 
in  which  even  my  associates,  in  behalf  of  whom  I  have 
striven,  prayed,  and  cared  so  much,  themselves  wish  me  to 
depart,  hoping  perchance  to  get  some  little  advantage  by 
it.  Why  then  should  a  man  cling  to  a  longer  stay  here  ?" 
From  the  imperfect  sympathy  of  fellow-men  he  turned, 
as  by  natural  instinct,  to  communion  with  the  Eternal 
and  Divine.     But  here  again  he  found  a   sorry  comfort    . 
in  the  system  of  his  choice.     The  Universal  Mind,  the 
Abstract    Godhead,   or    the    Soul    diffused 

The   aus- 

through  all  creation  and    revealed   by  Na-    terity  of  the 

,  •      ,  -  t  1  j     Stoic  creed 

ture  s  myriad  voices — these  were  cold  and  could  not 
neutral  phrases  which  might  indeed  con-  contenthim- 
vince  his  reason,  but  could  not  animate  or  stir  his  heart. 
He  could  not  therefore  rest  content  to  use  them  always 
in  their  austere  nakedness,  but  must  invest  the  cold  ab- 
stractions with  the  form  and  colour  of  a  personifying 
fancy,  bringing  thus  before  us  on  his  pages  the  postu- 
lates of  emotion  rather  than  of  logic.  But  meantime 
the  poor  artisans  and  freedmen  of  the  Christian  churches 
were  praying  to  their  Father  in  heaven  with  all  the  con- 
fidence of  trustful  childhood.    The  rabble  of      „, 

The  con- 

the  streets  were  clamouring  for  their  lives,       trast  of  the 

d.    ,         .  ,        ,  .  ,        -  contem- 

quickening  the  loyal  zeal  of    many  a       porary 

Gallio  on  the    seat  of  judgment;  but  they       Christians, 
found  comfort  in  the  thought  of  One  who  called  them 


132  The  Age  of  ihe  Antonines.  a.d. 

friends  and  brothers,  and  who  had  gone  before  them  on 
the  road  which  they  must  travel,  supported  by  the  un- 
seen help  of  an  Eternal  Lov.e.  They  laid  their  dead 
within  the  Catacombs,  tracing  on  the  rough  hewn  walls 
the  symbol  of  the  Cross  or  the  form  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd ;  but  they  felt  no  dark  misgivings  and  no  inexpli- 
cable yearnings,  and  so  were  happier  in  their  life  and 
death  than  the  philosophic  Emperor  of  the  proud  Roman 
world,  who  speaks  once  only  of  the  Christians,  and  then 
notices  them  as  facing  death  with  the  composure  of  mere 
obstinate  pride. 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  an  Emperor  so  good  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  successor  so  unworthy  ;  sadder  still  that  that 
M.  Aureiius  successor  w^s  his  son.  Could  not  the  philo- 
wasunfor-         sophic    ruler,   Julian    asked,    rise   above    a 

tunate  in  his         c     \        »      j  r 

successor,  lather  s  doting  fondness,  and  find  some  one 

better  fitted  to  replace  him  than  a  selfish 
stripling  who  was  soon  to  prove  himself  a  frantic  tyrant 
with  a  gladiator's  tastes?  He  had  a  son-in-law  beside 
him,  Pompeianus,  a  soldier  and  a  statesman  of  ripe  age, 
or  failing  him  there  were  all  the  worthiest  of  Rome  to 
choose  from,  as  he  himself  had  been  singled  out  in 
earlier  years,  and  raised  by  adoption  to  the  empire.  He 
had  himself  served  for  many  years  of  tutelage,  under 
the  eyes  of  Antoninus,  to  fit  him  for  the  responsibilities 
of  absolute  power  ;  was  it  wise  to  hope  that  an  inexperi- 
enced youth,  cradled  in  the  purple,  and  exposed  to  the 
mean  arts  and  flattery  of  servile  spirits  while  his  father 
was  far  away  upon  the  Danube,  would  have  the  wisdom 
or  the  self-control  to  provide  for  the  welfare  of  the  sub- 
ject millions?  Roman  gossips  had  an  ugly  story  of  the 
signs  of  cruelty  which  had  shown  themselves  in  Com- 
modus  already;  how  in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  slave  who 
had  failed  to  heat  his  bath,  he  ordered  him  to  be  flung 


1 4 7 - 1 80 .       Marcus  Aurelius  A ntoninus.  1 5 3 

into  the  furnace,  but  was  tricked  by  the  smell  of  frying 
sheepskin,  which,  thanks  to  an  attendant's  happy  thought, 
took  the  place  of  the  poor  bath  man.  True  or  false,  the 
tale  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  current  talk,  and  show 
how  little  men  dared  to  hope  that  the  father's  virtues 
would  be  continued  in  the  son. 

Was  M.  Aurelius   unfortunate  in  his  wife   as  well  as 
his   successor?     We    must    think   him    so    indeed  if  we 
believe   the   common    story,  so   confidently    Was  he  aIso 
repeated   since,  that  she  disgraced  him    by    in  his  wife 

...  1  n        r    Faustina  ? 

the  profligate  amours  which  were  the  talk:  ot 
the  whole  town  and  the  mark  of  scurrilous  jests   upon 
the  stage  ;  that  she  intrigued  with  Cassius    and   urged 
him  to  revolt ;  and  died  by  her  own  hand  at  last,  in  fear 
of  imminent  detection. 

Yet  we  have  grave  reasons  to  mistrust  this  picture  of 
Faustina's  character,  and  the  evidence  on  which  it  rests 
is  very  poor.  The  Emperor  himself,  in  a  striking  pass- 
age of  his  memoirs,  speaks  of  her  in  a  very    _ 

01  Reasons  for 

different  strain.     When  in  the   loneliness  of  doubting  the 
the  general's  tent  beside  the  Danube,  there    the  common 
rise  before  his  thoughts  the  memories  of  the    story- 
kinsmen,  friends,  and  teachers  who  had   guided  him  by 
their  counsels  or  example,  when  he  thanks  the  powers 
of  heaven  for  all  their  goodness   to  him  in 
the  past,  he  does  not  fail  to  praise  them  for 
the  blessing  of  a  wife  "  so  obedient,  so  affectionate,  and 
so    simple."     The    touching  pictures    of  the   Emperor's 
home  life  in  Fronto's  letters  bring  her  to  our  fancy  as  the 
tender    wife    and  loving    mother.     Her   own    recorded 
words,  written  in  hot  passion  at  the   news   of  the  revolt 
of  Cassius,  are  full  of  affection  towards  her  husband  and 
cries  of  vengeance  on  the  traitor,  and  data  recently  dis- 
covered in  inscriptions  in  the  Hauran  have  disposed  of 


134  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

the  doubts  as  to  their  genuineness  raised  long  ago  by 
critics.  In  the  countless  medals  struck  in  honour  of  her 
by  the  Emperor  or  Senate  she  appeared  sometimes  as 
the  patroness  of  Female  Modesty,  sometimes  as  the 
power  of  Love  and  Beauty  ;  and  flattery,  however  gross, 
would  hardly  have  devised  such  questionable  titles  to 
provoke  the  flippant  wit  of  Rome  had  such  grave  scan- 
dals been  believed. 

We  cannot  doubt  indeed  that  some  years  later  there 
were  stories  much  to  her  discredit  floating  through  the 
streets  of  Rome.  One  writer  of  repute  now  lost  to  us 
is  expressly  charged  with  blackening  her  memory ; 
another  (Dion  Cassius)  raked  up  commonly  into  his 
pages  so  much  of  the  dirt  of  calumny  that  we  listen  to 
his  statements  on  the  subject  with  reserve.  The  feeble 
writers  of  the  Augustan  history  a  century  later  repeat  the 
stories,  but  avowedly  as  only  current  rumour,  which  they 
had  not  tested  for  themselves.  But  the  Epitomists  of 
later  ages  drop  out  the  qualifying  phrases  altogether,  and 
speak  of  her  without  misgiving  or  reserve  as  another 
Messalina  on  the  throne,  and  later  history  has  com- 
monly repeated  the  worthless  verdict  of  these  most  un- 
critical of  writers.  If  we  hesitate  to  think  that  such  grave 
charges  could  be  altogether,  baseless,  we  may  note  that 
Faustina,  in  her  pride  of  birth  and  fashion,  had  little 
liking  for  the  sages  whom  her  husband  gathered  round 
him,  and  outraged  probably  the  scruples  of  these  ascetic 
Puritans  by  her  gay  defiance  of  their  tastes.  But  their 
displeasure  may  have  carried  a  moral  sanction  with  it, 
and  lived  on  in  literary  circles,  and  influenced  the  tone 
of  history  itself.  The  rabble  of  the  streets  grew  now 
and  then  impatient  of  the  serene  wisdom  of  their  ruler, 
and  when  he  was  inattentive  at  the  games,  or  tried  to 
lessen    the  excitement    of  the  gladiator's   bloody  sport, 


ch.  vi.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  135 

they  thought  it  a  good  jest  to  point  to  Faustina's  fashion- 
able pleasures,  and  to  hint  broadly  that  it  was  natural 
enough  that  she  should  look  for  sympathy  elsewhere 
than  to  so  august  a  philosopher  and  book-worm.  When 
Commodus  in  later  years  unbared  the  vileness  of  his 
brutal  nature,  men  might  perhaps  remember  all  this 
gossip  of  the  past,  and  say  that  he  could  be  no  true  son 
of  the  benign  ruler  whom  they  now  regretted,  thus  fondly 
embalming  the  memory  of  the  prince  while  sacrificing  to 
it  the  honour  of  his  wife. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   ATTITUDE   OF    THE    IMPERIAL   GOVERNMENT 
TOWARDS   THE    CHRISTIANS. 

For  a  century  or  more  the  imperial  government  took 
little  notice  of  the  Christian  church  as  the  organized 
form  of  a  distinct  religi'on..  It  knew  it  chiefly 

T  ■      ~     .  .  r  The  Christians 

as   a  Jewish  sect,  as  a  fitting  object  for  sus-    were  for 
picion  or  contempt,  but  not  commonly  for    regardedTonly 
active    persecution.     The    race  indeed  with    asaJew'sh 

*  sect,  and 

which  they  classed  it  was  peculiarly  distaste-    remained 

r   1  1         t->  1  r  •       i  1      undisturbed; 

tul  to  the  Roman  rulers,  as  fanatical  and 
unruly,  and  stirred  at  times  by  inexplicable  moods  of 
wild  excitement.  After  the  terrible  stru?crle  of  a  war 
almost  of  extermination  they  had  risen  in  fierce  revolt 
in  Palestine,  Cyprus,  and  Egypt;  in  all  the  great  centres 
of  industry  and  trade  in  which  they  spread,  they  gained 
a  name  for  turbulence  and  strife  and  obstinate  self-asser- 
tion. Yet  for  themselves  at  least  their  national  worship 
was  respected,  for  the  policy  of  Rome  found  a  place  in 
its  pantheon  for   the  gods    of  all  the    countries    of  the 


j-^6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  VI. 

Empire,  and  all  might  live  together  unmolested  side  by 

side. 

But  when  they  tried  to  be  aggressive,  to  make  prose- 
lytes even  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  and  to  unsettle  men's 
traditional  beliefs,  the  civil  power  stepped  in  to  check 
and  to  chastise  the  disturbers  of  the  public  peace.  It 
was  thus  that  in  the  old  days  of  the  Republic  senate  and 
consuls  oftentimes  took  measures  to  stay  the  progress  of 
the  eastern  creeds  when  they  claimed  a 
g^vemme^T11  ri2ht  of  settlement  at  Rome  ;  and  the  rulers 
tolerated  ail        0f  tiie  early  empire  acted  in  like  spirit  as 

creeds  which  J  l  . 

were  n-»t  defenders  of  the  national  faith  when   it  was 

aggressive.         mcnaced  by  what  they  thought  the  intoler- 
ant bigotry  of  the  Jewish  zealots.     In  the  reign  of  Tibe- 
rius, for  example,  large   numbers  of  such   aliens,  whose 
uncouth  superstitions  seemed  to  spread  contagion  round 
them,  were  flung  into  the  island  of  Sardinia,  to  live  or 
die,  as  it  might  happen,  in  the  miasma  of  that  pestilential 
climate.     In  the   days  of  Claudius  again  we  read  of  a 
disturbance  among  the  Jewish   immigrants,  which  grew 
to  such  a  height   as  to  be  followed  by  a  summary   edict 
of  general  banishment  from  Rome.    The  strange  words 
of  Suetonius  in  which   he  speaks  of  the  impulse  given 
by  a  certain  Chrestus  to  the  tumult,  "  impulsore  Chresto 
tumultuantes,"  point  probably  to  the  hot    disputes  and 
variance  caused  among  the  synagogues  by  the  ferment 
of  the  new    Christian    teaching.     The    disturbance  was 
soon  quieted,  and  the  peremptory  order  was  withdrawn, 
or  followed  only  by  the  departure  of  the  leading  spirits ; 
and  the  little  Christian  church  lived  for  a  time  securely 
screened  from  notice  and  attack  under  the  shelter  of  the 
legalized  religion   of  the   Jews,  with  which  it  was  com- 
monly confused   in  the  fancy   alike   of  the  people  and 
of  their  rulers.     But  the   story    of   Pomponia   Grsecina 


ch.  vi.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  137 

serves  to  show  that  these  exclusive  creeds  might  not  with 
impunity  overleap  the  barriers  of  race  and  social  class, 
A  noble  Roman  lady  was  accused  of  tampering  with  new 
forms  of  superstition,  according  to  the  rule  of  ancient 
days,  before  a  family  council  formed  by  her  husband 
and  her  nearest  kinsmen.  After  her  acquittal  we  are  told 
that  she  shunned  the  world  of  fashion,  and  lived  for 
years  a  sober  life  of  meditation.  Ecclesiastical  historians 
have  commonly  believed  that  they  could  read  in  the 
somewhat  scornful  lati'ruacre  of  the  heathen  writer  a  de- 

o         o 

scription  of  the  early  type  of  Christian  devotion. 

The  story  of  the  cruelties  of  Nero  paints  in   far  more 
lurid  colours  the  growing  hatred  of  the  populace  and  the 
constant  dangers  of  the  infant  church,  which 
now,  for  the    first  time,  clearly  appears  to    ^ut  in}^? 

'  '  J         rf  time  0f  ^,orr) 

view  in  the  pages  of  the  classical  historians,    we  m«y  trace 

r^,       .  .  ,     .  -11     distinct  dislike 

Hie  butchery  and  the  tortures  were  indeed  to  the 
a  mere  freak  of  unscrupulous  ferocity  by  as  such*"5 
which  the  Emperor  thought  to  divert  men's 
minds  from  the  great  fire  which  had  made  so  many 
thousands  homeless,  or  at  least  to  discharge  the  lower- 
ing thunder-clouds  of  popular  discontent  upon  the  heads 
of  the  poor  Christian  artisans  and  freedmen.  "They 
suffered,''  says  Tacitus,  "  those  votaries  of  a  pernicious 
superstition,  not  indeed  that  they  were  guilty  of  the  fire, 
but  for  their  hatred  of  the  human  kind.''  We  may  well 
ask  ourselves  the  causes  of  the  horror  and  repugnance 
here  and  elsewhere  expressed  so  strongly,  and  which 
served  as  a  convenient  excuse  for  Nero's  wanton  cruelty, 
guided  possibly  by  the  Jewish  jealousy  of  his  wife 
Poppaea.  How  could  the  eentle  courtesies  of  the  new 
moralitv  insoire  s'ich  feelings  in  the  societv  which 
watched  its  growth  ? 

The  Jewish   race  was  one  which  could  not  in  those 


138  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  CH.  vl 

days  mingle  peacefully  with  the  peoples  of 

due  partly  to  J  &         ^  j     *i  1    • 

their  Jewish  the  West.  In  Rome  and  Alexandria  and 
others  of  the  great  cities  of  the  ancient 
world  there  were  frequent  frays  and  tumults  in  the  pop- 
ulous quarters  where  they  flocked;  their  peculiar  habits 
and  dogged  self-assertion  stirred  the  antipathy  of  their 
heathen  neighbours,  who  had  no  eyes  for  their  industry 
and  thrift  and  the  nobler  aspects  of  their  moral  character. 
But  the  Jews  had  at  least  an  old  and  national  religion, 
which  might  be  borne  with  so  long  as  its  worshippers 
kept  peacefully  to  their  own  circles,  while  the  Christians, 
though  really,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  same 
though  they       race    an(j  customs,    seemed  to    draw  them- 

forieited  their 


claims  to  the     selves  apart  in  still  more  obstinate  isolation, 

protection  .      ,  .      ,        r  r  ,      . 

which  the  to  hold  aloof  even  from  their   countrymen, 

gSnenjoyed.  and  exhaust  the  patience  of  the  world  by 
meaningless  disputes  about  the  nice  points 
of  spiritual  dogmas.  Then  let  them  do  so  at  their  cost. 
If  they  disowned  their  ancient  worship,  they  must  forfeit 
the  legal  sanction  which  had  screened  them  hitherto. 

Again,  in  the  personal  bearing  of  the  Christians  there 
was  much  which  unavoidably  outraged  the  social  senti- 
ments of  others,  for  they  could   not  easily 

They  were  .  .        ,        .         .  ■,  r 

regarded  also  take  part  in  the  business  or  pleasures  ot  a 
andnm°roasle  world  on  which  the  stamp  of  idolatry  was 
fanatics,  set_     They  must  shun  the  pleasant  gather- 

ings of  their  friends  or  neighbours,  if  they  did  not  wish 
to  compromise  their  principles  or  shock  the  feelings  of 
the  rest  by  their  treatment  of  the  venerable  forms  of 
heathendom.  In  the  family  observances  at  the  chief 
epochs  of  a  Roman's  life  they  could  not  be  present  to 
show  their  sympathy  in  joy  or  sorrow,  for  religious  usages 
took  place  at  each,  and  they  dared  not  touch  the  unclean 
thing.     At  the  recurring  seasons  of  festivity  they  seemed 


ch.  VI.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  139 

unmoved  amid  the  general  gladness,  for  they  could  not 
worship  at  the  altars,  or  join  in  the  ceremonial  pro- 
cessions, or  hang  their  garlands  on  the  statues  of  the 
gods.  If  they  enlisted  in  the  legions,  they  might  be 
called  upon  to  adore  the  Genius  of  the  Emperor,  or  in 
case  of  their  refusal  be  charged  with  rank  disloyalty. 
No  wonder  if  they  held  themselves  aloof  from  public  life, 
when  at  every  turn  they  were  confronted  by  the  forms  of 
a  ritual  which  was  accursed  in  their  eyes.  When  their 
fellow-citizens  kept  holiday,  they  could  not  venture  to  the 
theatre  without  a  shock  to  their  sense  of  right  and  de- 
cency, while  they  turned  with  loathing  from  the  ghastly 
horrors  of  the  gladiatorial  combats.  They  saw  the  dan- 
gers and  they  felt  the  force  of  the  allurements  to  vice 
by  which  they  were  surrounded,  and  they  turned  away 
almost  with  despair  from  a  world  which  seemed  so  wholly 
given  over  to  the  power  of  sensuality  and  sin.  They 
had  no  eyes  for  the  beauty  of  an  art  which  was  enlisted 
in  the  service  of  idolatry,  nor  for  the  symbolic  value  of* 
the  ancient  forms  which  were  one  day  to  be  hallowed 
for  church  use.  Appealing  to  a  higher  standard  than 
the  will  of  Caesar  or  the  laws  of  Rome,  they  could  npt 
accept  the  current  estimates  of  men  and  manners,  but 
looked  often  with  a  grave  displeasure  at  what  seemed 
innocent  to  other  eyes.  Hence  men  came  to  think  of 
them  as  stern  fanatics,  shunning  the  pleasures  and 
courtesies  of  social  life,  sectarians  who  would  cut  them- 
selves adrift  from  all  the  natural  ties  of  country  and  of 
race. 

Nay  more,  they  were  branded  even  with  impiety,  be- 
cause they  took  no  part  in  any  recognised  forms  of  wor- 
ship, but  shrank  from  all  the  common  usages 

r  1  i-    ■  t-u  -L  •    -x.    j         and  accused 

of    national    religion.       Those    who    visited       ofimpiety, 
their  homes  found  no  little  niche  or  shrine  to 


140  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  CH.  VI. 

hold  the  figures  of  the  guardian  Lares ;  the  oratory  which 
perhaps  took  its  place  was  empty  as  the  temple  at  Jerusa- 
lem which  had  moved  the  wonder  of  the  conqueror  Pom- 
peius.  From  the  first  they  had  refused  all  adoration  to  a 
Caesar ;  still  more  emphatically  they  refused  it  after  the 
cruelties  of  a  Nero  had  coloured  with  their  stains  of  blood 
the  Apocalyptic  visions  of  Antichrist  and  future  judgment. 
In  addition  to  these  charges  there  were  others  ;  wild 
delusions  of  distempered  fancy,  then,  as  in  other  ages, 
,-,    „   ,  greedily  caught  up  by  the  credulous   and 

while  foul  &  J  t 

stories  were  prejudiced  masses.  The  simple  love-feasts 
credfted  held  at  first  in  token  of  brotherhood  and 

about  them.  thankful  memories  were  perverted  into 
scenes  of  foul  debauch ;  and  the  stories  of  accursed 
pledges,  cemented  by  the  blood  of  slaughtered  infants — 
such  as  were  told  of  old  of  Bacchanalian  orgies  or  of  the 
conspiracy  of  Catiline — passed  once  more  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  finding  possibly  some  poor  excuse  in  Eucha- 
ristic  language  misconstrued.  They  were  often  classed 
with  the  professors  of  magic  and  of  necromancy,  with 
the  charlatans  and  quacks  of  every  kind  who  haunted 
the  low  quarters  of  the  town  and  preyed  upon  the  igno- 
rant fancy  of  the  vulgar.  Yet  among  these  the  Christians 
often  found  their  bitterest  rivals,  in  the  deceivers  who 
feared  to  be  unmasked,  or  to  see  the  profits  of  their  trade 
endangered.  When  once  the  suspicion  and  dislike  of 
the  populace  were  roused  against  them  as  impious  mis- 
anthropes, the  wildest  stories  were  invented  and  believed 
to  justify  the  hatred  which  was  felt.  If  the  Nile  failed  to 
overflow  the  fields  in  time  of  drought;  if  the  plague 
spread  its  havoc  through  the  towns  ;  if  the  harvest  failed 
or  earthquakes  left  their  track  of  ruins ;  the  Christians 
were  the  guilty  wretches  by  whom  the  wrath  of  heaven 
was  caused.     In  Northern  Africa,  we  read,  it  was  in  later 


ch.  vi.  The  Empire  and  Christia?iity.  141 

days  a  proverb,  "  If  there  is  no  rain,  fix  the  blame  upon 
the  Christians." 

In  the  ignorant  antipathy  of  the  lower  orders  lay  the 
chief  danger  of  the  early   church,   and    it  was    on  this 
which  Nero  reckoned  when  he  made  it  the 
scapegoat  of  the  blind  fury  of  the  people.       NeF° 

1  .  r       r  reckoned  on 

But  his  cruelty,  frightful  as  it  was,  was  per-  this  popular 
sonal  only,  causing  no  change  of  legal  status,  antlPa 
an  exceptional  moment  in  a  time  of  toleration.  The 
Christian  religion  was  not  yet  proscribed,  and  its  pro- 
fessors had  little  cause  to  fear  the  Roman  governors  or 
judges,  save  when  the  people  clamoured  loudly  for  their 
blood.  The  reign  of  Domitian,  indeed,  is  vaguely  spoken 
of  as  one  of  persecution  ;  but  there  is  little  evidence  of 
this  in  the  annals  of  the  time,  though  here  and  there 
noble  Romans,  like  Clemens  and  Domitilla,  may  have 
suffered  for  lapsing  from  the  creed  of  their  fathers. 

But  with  the    second    century    of  the   empire  darker 
times  set  in  in  earnest,  and  a  general  ban  was  put  at  last 
by  law  upon  the  Christian  church.     We  may 
find  in  Pliny's  letters  the  fullest  notice  of  the       Christianity 
change.     As  governor  of  Bithvnia  he  wrote       waV'°' 

00  J  made  illegal 

to   Trajan  from  his   province  to  tell  him  of      tin  the  time 

1  1.    •  i  i  ii  °f  Trajan. 

the  new  religionists  who  were  brought  be- 
fore his  seat  of  justice,  and  to  ask  for  instructions  how 
to  deal  with  them.  He  had  never  had  to  do  with  them 
before,  he  said,  nor  ever  sat  in  court  when  such  cases 
were  brought  up.  He  was  doubtful  whether  the  name 
of  Christian  should  be  criminal  in  itself,  or  if  it  would  be 
right  to  look  only  to  the  practice  implied  in  the  profes- 
sion. Information  had  been  sent  to  him  by  unknown 
hands,  and  many  had  been  denounced  to  him  by  name. 
On  enquiry  it  appeared  that  while  some  denied  the 
charge    entirely,  others    admitted   that   they    had   been 


142  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch   VI. 

drawn  away,  though  they  had  ceased  to  be  Chris- 
tians long  ago.  When  sharply  questioned  as  to  the  prac- 
tice and  belief  of  the  society  to  which  they  had  belonged, 
they  said  its  members  used  to  meet  from  time  to  time  a\ 
break  of  day,  and  sing  their  hymns  of  praise  to  Christ, 
and  bind  themselves  by  sacred  pledges,  not  to  any 
deed  of  darkness,  but  to  keep  themselves  unstained  by 
fraud,  and  falsehood,  and  adultery.  .  There  were  stated 
gatherings  besides,  in  which  they  joined  each  other  in  a 
simple  meal,  till  all  such  forms  of  social  brotherhood 
were  put  down  by  a  special  edict.  To  test  the  truth  of 
such  confessions,  Pliny  had  two  slave  girls  tortured,  but 
nothing  further  was  avowed  by  them  nor  by  the  rest  who 
frankly  owned  that  they  were  Christians,  and  would  not 
recant  or  flinch  even  after  repeated  threats. 

Their  unyielding  obstinacy  seemed  to  the  writer  of 
itself  to  call  for  punishment,  though  beyond  that  he 
could  only  find  the  traces  of  extravagant  delusion.  But 
he  shrank  from  acting  on  his  own  discretion  without  in- 
structions from  the  Emperor  himself,  so  grave  were  the 
interests  at  stake  owing  to  the  numbers  of  every  age  and 
sex  and  social  grade  whose  lives  and  fortunes  were 
involved.  For  the  contagion,  as  he  called  it,  had  been 
spreading  fast  through  towns  and  villages  and  lonely 
hamlets  ;  the  ancient  temples  had  been  almost  deserted 
and  few  were  found  to  buy  the  offerings  for'  the  altars, 
till  fear  of  punishment  had  lately  quickened  into  life  the 
forms  of  wonted  reverence. 

Reasons  may  be  urged  indeed  for  doubting  the  genuine- 
ness of  this  letter,  at  least  in  the  form  in  which  we  have 
Trajan's  ^  now;  but  we  may  at  least  accept  the  reply 

plh^er  t0  °f  Trajan,  which  was  very  brief  and  weighty. 

determined        He  would  give  no  encouragement  to  official 

the  law.  ...  '  _     ,  . 

eagerness  in  hunting    out   charges    of  this 


CH.  vi.  The  Empire  a?id  Christianity.  143 

kind;  no  anonymous  evidence  should  be  accepted  ;  any 
Christians  should  meet  with  pardon  for  the  past  if  they 
would  adore  the  national  gods;  but  punishment  must  be 
enforced  on  all  who  stubbornly  refused.  This  rescript 
formally  decided  the  legal  status  of  the  new  religion  and 
the  proceedings  of  the  imperial  agents.  The  Christian 
church  could  now  no  longer  claim  the  protection  which 
the  synagogue  enjoyed  ;  the  forms  and  pledges  of  its 
union  were  illegal ;  any  who  would,  might  come  forward 
to  inform  against  them,  and  governor  or  judge  might 
not  pardon  even  if  he  wished. 

Indeed,  even  to  enlightened  rulers  such  as  Trajan, 
who  were  not  disposed  to  credit  the  gross  calumnies  of 
popular  fancy,  there  was  much  that  might  seem  danger- 
ous in  the  mysterious  influence  of  the  new  religion.  Its 
talk  of  equality  and  brotherhood  might  sound  like  the 
watchword  of  a  social  revolution,  and   the 

,  ..     j         The  reasons 

more    so    as    its    members    w^re    recruited       wny  the 
chiefly  from  the   toiling  millions.     The  ties       mleh^rJatu- 
of  sympathv  between    its    scattered   mem-       rally  distrust 

J       r  J  the  church. 

bers  were  like  the  network  of  a  widespread 
conspiracy,  whose  designs  might  be  political,  though 
masked  under  religious  names.  Its'meetings,  often  held 
at  night,  were  an  offence  against  the  legal  maxim  that 
no  new  clubs  must  be  formed  or  organized  without  the 
sanction  of  the  civil  power  ;  the  refusal  of  its  members 
to  comply  with  a  few  time-honoured  forms,  or  to  swear 
even  by  the  Emperor's  Genius,  seemed  like  the  disloyal 
wish  to  break  wholly  with  the  past  and  to  parade  a 
cynical  contempt  for  the  established  powers.  The  obsti- 
nate unwillingness  to  bow  even  to  the  will  of  Caesar, 
and  the  claim  to  be  guided  by  a  higher  law,  had  an  nn 
welcome  sound  in  the  ears  of  absolute  power.  Some  too 
there  were,  no  doubt,  who  pushed  their  courageous  pre* 


144  The  Age  of  the  Ajitonines.  ch   vi. 

test  to  the  extreme  of  discourteous  defiance,  in  their  sensi- 
tive fear  of  dallying  with  the  forms  of  idol  worship,  like 
the  soldier  who  refused  to  appear  before  his  general 
with  the  laurel  garland  on  his  head,  and  whose  scruples 
called  out  a  treatise  of  Tertullian  in  their  defence;  or 
who  else  vaunted  openly  their  indifference  tojieath  in 
their  impatient  longing  for  the  martyr's  crowi.  It  was 
probably  of  such  as  these  that  Marcus  Aureiius  was 
thinking  when  he  penned  his  single  reference  to  the 
Christians,  saying  that  the  soul  should  be  ready  at  any 
moment  to  be  parted  from  the  body,  not  from  mere  obsii- 
nacy  as  with  them,  but  considerately  and  with  dignity, 
without  tragic  show.      j 

During  the  whole^eriod  before  us  there  was  little 
change  in  the  attitude  of  the  central  power.  The  justice 
of  Trajan,  the  refined  curiosity  of  Hadrian,  the  humanity 
and  gentle  wisdom  of  the  Antonines,  seemed  alike 
insensible  to  the  goodness  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
Christian  morality,  and  alike  indisposed  to  sanction  the 
new  influence  which  was  spreading  through  the  heathen 
world.  Its  speedy  progress  might  well  seem  alarming 
to  the  defenders  of  the  established  order.  It  has  been 
thought  indeed  that  Pliny's  letter  must  have  been  tam- 
pered with  in  early  times,  since  the  numbers  of  the  Chris- 
tians are  insisted  en  so  strongly  by  a  writer  who  con- 
fesses that  beforehand  he  knew  nothing  of  their  tenets. 
Yet  the  churchmen  of  that  age  proudly  point  to  the 
striking  signs  of  onward  movement.  "There  is  no  spot 
upon  the  earth,"  says  Justin,  "even  among  barbarous 
peoples,  where  the  name  of  the  Crucified  Redeemer  is 
not  heard  in  prayer."  Irenneus  thinks  that  the  church 
is  spread  through  the  whole  universe,  and  Tertullian  in 
the  lively  phrases  of  his  rhetoric  urges,  "We  are  but  of 
yesterday,  and  we   already  fill  your  empire,  your  cities, 


ch.  vi.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  145 

your  tov/n  councils,  your  camps,  your  palace,  and  your 
forum  ;  we  leave  you  only  your  temples  to  yourselves. 
Without  recourse  to  arms,  we  might  do  battle  with  you 
simply  by  the  protest  of  our  separation  ;  you  would  be 
frightened  at  your  isolation."  And  the  oldest  of  the  Cata- 
combs of  Rome  has  seemed  to  competent  observers  to 
point  in  the  forms  of  its  symbolic  art  to  the  number  of 
the  churchmen  who,  even  in  that  early  age,  laid  their 
dead  within  these  obscure  labyrinths  of  stone. 

This  rapid  spread  of  the  young  churches,  exaggerated 
as  it  probably  has  been,  was  a  real  element  of  danger. 
Not  that  the  Emperors  had  any  persecuting  zeal,  or  any 
wish  to  hunt  the  poor  victims  down.  But  the  clamours 
of  the  populace  grew  louder,  and  the  provincial  gover- 
nors were  often  called  on  to  enforce  the  law  without  ap- 
peal to  any  higher  courts.  Some  looked  on  with  indif- 
ference from  the  seat  of  justice  while  the  crowd  of  igno- 
ble criminals  passed  before  them,  marvelling  only  at  the 
conscientious  scruples  which  declined  to  sprinkle  a  few 
grains  of  incense  on  the  altars.  Others  were  glad  to 
court  the  favour  of  the  people  over  whom  they  ruled  bv  the 
sacrifice  of  a  few  stiff-necked  zealots,  fearing  also  to  hear 
the  cry,  "  If  thou  lettest  this  man  go,  thou  art  not  Csesar's 
friend." 

So  we  have  the  striking  fact,  that  on   the  one  hand, 
after  Trajan's  rescript,  the  lowering  clouds 
seem  to  be  ever  gathering  more  blackly,  and    The _succeed- 

0  °  J  '  ing  Lmperors 

the  explosions    of  popular  fury  grow  more    incline  to 

r  ii  1         /•     ,         ,-,  mercv,  but 

Irequent;  on  the  other,  each  of  the  Empe-    the  popular 
rors    is    represented    in    church    history   as    morelSl 
doing  something  to    shield   the    Christians 
from  attack  or  to  temper  the  austerity  of  justice.  Thus  we 
have  the  letter  sent  by  Hadrian  to  the  governor  of  Asia 
Minor,  in  which  he  comments  strongly  on  the  disorderly 


146  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vi. 

attacks  upon  the  Christians,  such  as  might  encourage  the 
malice  and  extortionate  claims  of  false  accusers.  Oniv 
indictments  in  strict  legal  form  should  be  accepted; 
none  should  be  arrested  on  vague  rumour,  and  none 
convicted,  save  of  acting  contrary  to  law.  This  would 
amount  to  virtual  toleration,  unless  taken  in  connection 
with  the  rule  prescribed  by  Trajan  which  made  it  penal 
to  refuse  to  adore  the  gods  of  Rome.  But  even  as  thus 
qualified,  it  would  be  a  boon  to  the  oppressed,  as  it 
might  tend  to  check  the  greed  of  the  informers,  and 
strengthen  the  hands  of  an  impartial  judge. 

But  the  letter  itself  is  not  beyond  suspicion,  though 
_,,  .         far  more  credible  than  one  which  purports  to 

j  hfi  rescripts  *        r 

of  Hadrian        be  written  by  one  or  other  of  the  Antonines. 

and   Antoni-         ,  ,  ,  ,         r   .        ,  r   .     . 

nus  very  to  a  general  assembly  of  the  deputies  of  Asra. 

questionable,  ^he  message,  briefly  stated,  runs  somewhat 
as  follows  :  "  I  hold  that  the  gods  may  be  safely  left  to 
vindicate  their  honour  on  the  heads  of  those  who  spurn 
them.  The  Christians  prefer  to  die  rather  than  be  faith- 
less to  the  power  they  worship,  and  they  triumph  in  the 
contest,  for  they  are  true  to  their  own  principles.  Their 
neighbours  in  their  panic  fear  of  natural  portents  and 
disasters  neglect  to  pray  and  offer  to  their  gods,  while 
they  persecute  the  Christians  who  alone  show  real  re- 
ligion. Provincial  governors  often  wrote  to  my  sainted 
father  on  this  subject,  and  were  told  not  to  meddle  with 
the  Christians  unless  they  were  guilty  of  treason  to  the 
state.  I  too  would  follow  the  same  course  of  action,  and 
have  informers  warned  that  they  will  be  liable  to  penal- 
ties themselves  if  they  bring  vexatious  charges  of  the 
sort."  An  imperial  mandate  couched  in  such  strong 
terms  would  certainly  have  screened  the  Christians  from 
attack  and  have  marked  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  the 
church,  and  as  such  have  been  constantly  appealed  to 


CH.  vi.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  147 

in  the  law  courts  as  also  in  the  writings  of  Apologists. 
But  it  is  probable  enough  that  something  was.  done  to 
check  the  violence  of  popular  feeling  or  the  malice  of 
informers,  and  that  we  have  the  traces  of  such  action, 
coloured  in  after  days  by  grateful  feeling,  or  overstated 
from  the  fancy  that  princes  so  large  hearted  and  humane 
must  have  been  in  sympathy  with  the  noblest  move- 
ments of  their  times. 

Yet,  sad  to  say,  to  the  reign  of  the  philosophic  Em- 
peror belongs  many  a  page  of  the  long  chronicle  of 
martyrdom,  and  stories  are  given  us  at  length  of  the 
sufferings  of  confessors  whom  the  good  ruler  was  either 
powerless  or  indifferent  to  save.  One  of  the  earliest  of 
such  records  may  be  found  in  a  letter  of  the    _,, 

J  I  he  ir.ar- 

church  of  Smyrna  which  describes  the  last    tyrdom  of 

r     .  1  i       -r>    i  -^i  Polvcarp. 

days  of  the  venerable  Polycarp.  1  he  pas-  Euseb.  Hi-t. 
sion  of  the  populace  had  broken  out  against  LccL  1V-  I5- 
the  Christians,  and  after  witnessing  the  death  of  meaner 
victims,  they  began  to  clamour  "  Away  with  the  Athe- 
ists!" "Let  Polycarp  be  sought."  The  aged  bi?hop 
wished  to  stay  in  the  city  at  his  post  of  duty,  but  his 
friends  urcred  him  to  withdraw  and  shun  the  storm.  He 
was  tracked,  however,  from  one  house  in  the  country  to 
another,  till  at  length  he  would  fly  no  further,  but  waited 
in  his  hiding-place  for  his  pursuers,  saying  only  "  God's 
will  be  done."  As  they  returned  with  him  to  the  city 
they  were  met  by  the  chief  officer  of  the  police,  who 
took  up  Polycarp  into  his  carriage,  and  spoke  to  him  with 
kindness,  asking  what  harm  there  could  be  in  calling 
Caesar  lord,  and  in  offering  sacrifice  to  save  his  life. 
Polycarp  at  first  made  no  reply,  but  at  last  said.  "  1  will 
not  do  what  you  advise  me."  Threats  and  violence 
were  of  no  avail  with  him,  and  he  went  on  his  way 
calmly  to  the  governor's  presence,  though  a  deafening 


148  The  Age  of  the  Anto7iines.  ch.  vi. 

din  was  made  by  the  assembled  multitude.  The  pro- 
consul urged  him  to  swear  by  the  Genius  of  Caesar,  and 
to  say  "  Away  with  the  Atheists  !"  like  the  rest.  The 
old  man  looked  gravely  at  the  crowd  with  a  sigh  and 
with  uplifted  eyes,  then  said,  pointing  to  them  with  his 
finger,  "  Away  with  the  Atheists  !"  The  governor  urged 
him  further.  "Swear;  curse  Christ  and  I  release  thee." 
"  Eighty  and  six  years,"  he  answered,  "have  I  served, 
him,  and  he  has  never  done  me  harm,  and  how  can  I 
blaspheme  the  king  who  saved  me  ?"  When  still  pressed, 
he  said,  "  If  you  wish  to  know  what  I  am,  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  am  a  Christian  ;  if  you  would  hear  an 
account  of  Christianity,  appoint  a  day  and  hear  me." 
The  governor,  who  was  no  fanatic,  and  would  have 
gladly  saved  him,  asked  him  to  persuade  the  people,  but 
he  refused  to  defend  himself  before  them.  The  threats 
of  the  wild  beasts  and  of  the  stake  were  all  of  no  avail, 
and  at  last  it  was  proclaimed  "  Polycarp  has  confessed 
himself  a  Christian."  Then  all  the  multitude  of  Gentiles 
and  of  Jews  who  dwelt  at  Smyrna  yelled  out  in  furious 
clamour,  "  This  is  the  teacher  of  impiety,  the  father  of 
the  Christians,  the  enemy  of  our  gods,  who  teaches  so 
many  to  turn  away  from  worship  and  from  sacrifice." 
And  they  cried  with  one  accord  that  Polycarp  must  be 
burned  alive.  We  need  not  dwell  longer  on  the  story  of 
his  martyrdom,  the  outline  of  which  seems  genuine 
enough,  though  there  are  features  of  it  which  were  added 
probably  by  the  fancy  of  a  later  age. 

A  few  years  afterwards  another  storm  of  persecution 
raged  in  Gaul,  at  Vienna  and  Lugdunum  (Lyons),  the 
The  perse-  record  of  which  is  given  us  at  full  in  a  letter 
v«?««aaLj  from  tne  suffering  churches  to  their  brethren 
Lugdunum.        of  Asia    Minor.     The  various  parts  of  the 

Euseb.  v.   1.  .    .  .  r 

chier  actors  in  the  scene  are  stated  in  it  with 


CH.  VI.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  149 

unusual  clearness,  and  some  extracts  may  serve  to  illus- 
trate the  temper  of  the  social  forces  of  the  time.  The 
Christians  of  the  neighbourhood  had  been  long  exposed 
to  insult  and  outrage  in  all  public  places  ;  but  at  length 
the  excitement  grew  to  such  a  height  that  a  furious  mob 
began  to  pillage  their  houses  and  to  drag  the  inmates  off 
to  trial.  As  they  openly  avowed  their  faith  before  the 
magistrates  and  people,  they  were  shut  up  in  prison  for 
a  time  until  the  arrival  of  the  Roman  governor.  As  soon 
as  they  were  brought  before  him  he  showed  a  spirit  of 
ferocious  enmity,  resorted  even  to  the  torture  to  wring 
confession  from  the  accused,  and  admitted,  contrary  to 
legal  usage,  the  evidence  of  heathen  slaves  against  their 
masters,  till  fear  and  malice  caused  them  to  be  accused 
of  "  Thyestean  banquets  and  (Edipodean  incest.''  No 
age  nor  sex  was  spared  meantime.  Pothinus,  the  aged 
bishop  of  Lugdunum,  was  roughly  dragged  before  his 
judge,  and  asked  who  was  the  Christians'  God.  He  an- 
swered only,  "  If  thou  art  worthy,  thou  shalt  know."  For 
this  he  was  set  upon  and  buffeted,  and  cast  into  a  dun- 
geon, where  after  two  days  his  feeble  body  breathed  its 
last.  Blandina,  a  weak  woman,  was  racked  from  morn 
till  night,  till  the  baffled  gaolers  grew  weary  of  their  horrid 
work,  and  were  astonished  that  she  was  living  still.  But 
she  recovered  strength  in  the  midst  of  her  confession, 
and  her  cry,  "  I  am  a  Christian,  and  there  is  no  evil 
done  among  us,"  brought  her  refreshment  in  all  the 
sufferings  inflicted  on  her.  As  some  of  the  accused  were 
Roman  citizens,  proceedings  were  delayed  till  appeal 
could  be  directly  made  to  Caesar,  and  his  will  about  the 
prisoners  could  be  known.  At  length  the  imperial  an- 
swer came,  that  those  who  recanted  should  be  set  free, 
but  that  all  who  persisted  in  their  creed  must  die.  Mean- 
time many  who  had  denied  already,  but  were  still  kept 


150  The  Age  of  the  Antomnes.  ch.  vi. 

in  bonds,  were  encouraged  by  the  ardour  of  the  true 
champions  of  the  faith,  and  came  forward  to  the  gover- 
nor's judgment  seat  to  make  a  good  confession,  and  to 
be  sent  by  him,  such  as  were  citizens  of  Rome,  to  be 
beheaded,  and  all  the  rest  to  the  wild  beasts.  Some, 
indeed,  who  had  "  no  marriage  garment  "  gave  way  to 
their  fears;  but  the  rest,  "like  noble  athletes,  endured 
divers  contests,  and  gained  great  victories,  and  received 
the  crown  of  incorruption.''  Last  of  all  Blandina  was 
again  brought  in  along  with  Ponticus,  a  boy  of  about 
fifteen  years  of  age.  "  These  two  had  been  taken  daily 
to  the  amphitheatre  to  see  the  tortures  which  the  rest 
endured,  and  force  was  used  to  make  them  swear  by  the 
idols  of  the  heathen  ;  but  as  they  still  were  firm  and 
constant,  the  multitude  was  furious  against  them,  and 
neither  pitied  the  boy's  tender  years,  nor  respected  the 
woman's  sex.  They  inflicted  on  them  every  torture,  but 
failed  to  make  them  invoke'  their  gods  ;  for  Ponticus, 
encouraged  by  his  sister,  after  enduring  nobly  every 
kind  of  agony,  gave  up  the  ghost,  while  the  blest  Blan- 
dina, last  of  all,  after  having  like  a  noble  mother  in- 
spirited her  children,  trod  the  same  path  of  conflict  which 
her  children  trod  before  her,  hastening  on  to  them  with 
joy  at  her  departure,  not  as  one  thrown  to  the  wild 
beasts,  but  as  one  invited  to  a  marriage  supper ;  .  .  .  the 
heathens  themselves  acknowledging  that  never  among 
them  did  woman  endure  so  many  and  so  fearful 
tortures." 

We  cannot  read  without  emotion  the  story  of  these 
heroic  martyrs ;  but  it  has,  besides,  this  special  interest 
for  us,  that  it  shows  the  persecution  taking  its  rise,  as 
usual,  in  the  blind  fury  of  the  people,  and  encouraged 
also  by  local  magistrates,  provincial  governors,  and 
either  by  Marcus  Aurelius  himself,  or  by  his  representa- 


■ch.  vi.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  15 1 

tives  at  Rome,  if  the  prince  was  too  busy  with  the 
Marcomannic  war.  Yet  for  none  of  these  can  the  excuse 
of  ignorance  be  fairly  pleaded.  For  Christianity  had 
been  long  before  the  world;  there  was  no  mystery  or 
concealment  of  its  creed ;  its  most  distinctive  features 
were  confessed  in  the  pages  even  of  its  hostile  critics, 
and  for  some  years  past  Apologists  had  been  busy  in 
doing  battle  with  the  prejudices  of  the  people,  and  ap- 
pealing to  the  enlightened  judgment  of  the  Caesars. 

Thus  even  the  mocking  Lucian,  in  a  single  page  of  his 
satiric  medley,  reflects  the  noble  unworldliness  of  the 
young  church,  its  enthusiastic  hopes  of  a  life 

,  ,   L,  .  .    .        r  Lucian's 

beyond  the  grave,  its  generous  spirit  of  sym-  account  of 
pathy  and  brotherhood,  with  the  longing  to  proSS""3 
have  all  things  in  common,  which  made  it    reflects 

some  noble 

easily  the  dupe  of  sanctimonious  impostors,  features  of  the 
He  describes  the  life  of  such  a  clever  rogue, 
under  the  name  of  Peregrinus  Proteus,  who  after  many 
a  fraudulent  device  professed  himself  a  convert,  and 
soon  rose  to  high  repute  among  the  Christians  by  his 
plausible  eloquence  and  ,  seeming  zeal.  From  his 
energy  he  was  singled  out  for  persecution,  thus  winning 
admiration  from  the  brethren  as  a  confessor  and  a  saint. 
While  he  was  in  prison  they  spared  no  trouble  or  expense 
to  gain  his  freedom,  and,  failing  in  this,  they  were  care- 
ful to  provide  for  all  his  wants.  From  the  dawn  of  day, 
old  women,  widows,  and  orphans  might  be  seen  standing 
at  the  prison  doors  ;  the  chief  members  of  the  sect, 
having  bribed  the  keepers,  slept  near  him  in  the  dungeon. 
They  brought  him  all  kinds  of  good  cheer,  and  read  the 
books  of  Scripture  in  his  presence.  Even  from  cities  in 
Asia  Minor  came  deputies  from  Christian  societies  to 
offer  comfort  and  to  plead  his  cause.  .  .  "  For  nothing," 
says  Lucian,  "  can  exceed  their  eagerness  in  like  cases, 


152  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vi. 

or  their  readiness  to  give  away  all  they  have.  Poor 
wretches  !  they  fancy  that  they  are  immortal,  and  so 
they  make  light  of  tortures,  and  give  themselves  up 
willingly  to  death.  Their  first  lawgiver  has  also  caused 
them  to  believe  that  all  of  them  are  brothers.  Renoun- 
cing, therefore,  the  gods  of  Greece,  and  adoring  the 
Crucified  Sophist  whose  laws  they  follow,  they  are  care- 
less of  the  goods  of  life  and  have  them  all  in  common, 
so  entire  is  their  faith  in  what  he  told  them." 

About  the  same  time,  probably,  Celsus  the  philosopher 

devoted  all  his  acuteness  and  his  wit  to  an  elaborate 

attack  upon  the  Christian  creed,  and  proved  that  he  had 

made    himself    acquainted    with  the    letter 

The  attack        0f  jts  doctrines,  though  he  had  not  the  ear- 

of  Celsus,  ° 

nestness  of  heart  to  appreciate  its  spirit. 
His  work  is  only  known  to  us  in  the  reply  of  Origen,  but 
in  the  course  of  the  objections  urged  and  met,  we  have 
brought  before  us  the  chief  aspects  of  the  new  morality. 
Thus,  when  he  makes  the  Christians  say,  "  Let  no  edu- 
cated or  wise  man  draw  near,  but  whoever  is  ignorant, 
whoever  is  like  a  child,  let  him  come  and  be  comforted," 
he  only  states  in  taunting  form  the  well-known  paradox 
of  the  Gospel  teaching ;  but  in  his  protest  at  such  igno- 
rant faith  he  does  not  stay  to  ask  how  a  religion  which 
disowned,  as  he  thought,  appeal  to  reason,  could  give 
birth  to  the  many  heresies  and  varying  sects  on  which 
he  lays  elsewhere  such  stress  as  a  weak  point  in  the 
Christian  system.  Again,  though  only  as  a  hostile  critic, 
he  bears  witness  to  its  promises  of  peace  and  grace  to 
the  sinful  and  despairing  conscience.  "  They,"  he  says, 
"  who  bid  us  be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  other 
creeds  begin  by  proclaiming,  '  Let  him  draw  near  who 
is  unstained  and  pure,  who  is  conscious  of  no  guilt,  who 
has  lived  a  good  and  upright  life.'      But  let  us  hear  the 


CH.  VI.  The  Empire  and  Christianity.  153 

invitation  of  these  Christians.  '  Whoever  is  a  sinner,' 
they  cry,  '  whoever  is  foolish  or  unlettered,  in  a  word, 
whoever  is  wretched,  him  will  the  kingdom  of  God 
receive.'"  With  this  we  may  connect  his  comment  on 
the  subject  of  conversion  :  "  It  is  clear  that  no  one 
can  quite  change  a  person  to  whom  sin  has  become  a 
second  nature,  even  by  punishment,  and  far  less  then  by 
mercy  ;  for  to  bring  about  an  entire  change  of  nature  is 
the  hardest  of  all  things."  Celsus  knew  the  chief  points 
of  the  story  of  the  life  and  character  of  Christ,  but  was 
unaffected  by  its  moral  grandeur.  He  had  heard  of  hu- 
mility as  a  marked  feature  of  the  Christian  spirit,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  a  morbid  growth,  a  perversion  of  the 
philosopher's  ideal.  He  was  familiar  with  the  teaching 
of  God's  Providence,  and  of  His  fatherly  care  for  every 
soul  of  man  ;  but  he  thought  it  all  a  vain  presumption, 
and  the  talk  about  the  dignity  of  human  nature  and  pos- 
sibility of  its  redemption  sounded  but  as  idle  and  un- 
meaning words  to  one  who  was  content  with  the  idea  of 
a  Great  Universe,  evolving  through  unchanging  laws  an 
endless  round  of  inevitable  results. 

In  the  next  century  Christianity  found  champions  who 
were  ready  to  meet  such  attack  on  its  own  ground,  and 
to  furbish  for  their  use  the  weapons  drawn       answered 
from    the    armory    of  philosophic    schools.       in  later 
But  the  Apologists   of  that  age   had   other       Apologists 
work  to  do.     Accused  as  they  had  been   as       hadtod^al 
atheists,  misanthropes,  magicians,  and  sen-       mo^^! 

sualists  of  the  worst  type,  the  pressing  need       than  doc- 

11  triue- 

for  them  was  to  rebut  such  wanton  slander, 

and  to  appeal  to  the  imperial  justice  from  the  calumnies 

of  ignorant  malice.    They  were  not  like  divines  engaged 

on  treatises  of  theological  lore  ;  but,  writing  face  to  face 

with  the  thought  of  speedy  death,  they  turned  to  meet 


154  The  Age  of  the  A?itoni?ies.  ch.  vi. 

the  danger  of  the  moment,  and  dwelt  on  practice  as  well 
as  on  belief.  In  answer  to  the  coarse  falsehoods  which 
were  spread  about  their  secret  meetings,  they  described 
at  length  their  doings  in  their  Sunday  gatherings — how 
they  met  to  read  the  memoirs  of  the  Apostles  and  the 
writings  of  the  Prophets.  "Then,  when  the  reader 
ceases,  the  president  exhorts  to  copy  these 
Justin  good  things.     Then  we  rise  up  all  together 

Apol.  l.  67.  fa  ^  jr  o 

and  offer  prayers,  and  when  we  cease  from 
prayer,  bread  is  brought,  and  wine,  and  water,  and  the 
president  offers  prayers  in  like  manner,  and  thanksgiv- 
ings, and  the  people  add  aloud  '  Amen,'  and  the  sharing 
of  those  things  for  which  thanks  have  been  given  takes 
place  to  everyone,  and  they  are  sent  to  those  who  are 
not  present.  Those  who  have  means  and  goodwill  give 
what  they  like,  and  the  sum  collected  is  laid  up  with  the 
president,  who  in  person  helps  orphans  and  widows,  and 
all  who  are  in  need,  and  those  who  are  in  bonds,  and 
those  who  have  come  from  a  strange  land,  and,  in  one 
word,  he  is  guardian  to  all  who  are  in  need." 

They  were  spoken  of  as  evil-doers,  and  possibly  so- 
called  Christians  might  have  been  such — Gnostics,  or 
heretics  of  questionable  creeds — but  if  so,  urged  the 
writers,  they  could  be  no  true  followers  of  Him  whose 
recorded  words  they  quote,  and  whose  influ- 
Their  line  of      ence  in  the  past  they  point  to  as  leading  the 

argument.  1  y   j-  ;n 

hearts  of  men  from  hatred  to  love,  from 
vice  to  virtue.  Unsocial  and  morose  they  were  not, 
though  they  must  needs  shun  the  forms  of  idol-worship 
and  the  gross  offerings  so  unworthy  of  God's  spiritual 
being.  Magicians  certainly  they  were  not,  and  it  was  an 
idle  taunt  to  say  that  the  miracles  of  their  Master  were 
the  mere  works  of  magic  art,  for  prophecy  had  long  ago 
foretold  them  by  the  mouth  of  the  holy  men  of  God  on 


CH.  vi.  The  E??ipirc  and  Christianity.  155 

whom  a  large  measure  of  the  Divine  Spirit  must  have 
rested.  That  Spirit  or  Eternal  Logos  was  incarnate  in  its 
fulness  only  in  Christ  Jesus,  though  shared  in  some  degree 
by  the  good  men  of  heathen  days,  like  Socrates  or  Plato. 
But  the  Greek  sages  were  not  able  to  persuade  anyone 
to  die  for  his  belief,  whereas  their  Master  was  obeyed 
by  poor  ignorant  artisans  and  slaves,  who  proved  the 
purity  of  their  religious  life  by  the  manly  courage  of 
their  death  as  martyrs.  Great,  however,  as  was  their 
devotion  to  their  heavenly  Master,  they  had  no  lack  of 
loyalty  to  Caesar,  for  the  kingdom  to  which  Christ 
pointed  was  no  earthly  kingdom  of  material  power ;  but 
their  hopes  and  fears  of  a  life  beyond  the  grave  were 
the  surest  sanctions  of  morality,  and  such  wholesome 
restraints  on  evil-doers  all  wise  governors  must  welcome. 
These  were  the  main  topics  of  the  earliest  Apologies, 
interspersed  at  times,  now  with  attacks  upon  the  heathen 
legends  which  sanctioned  the  very  vices  with  which 
Christianity  was  falsely  charged,  and  now  with  warnings 
against  the  malignant  action  of  the  demons  who  had  by 
the  allurements  of  idolatry  seduced  men  from  the  wor- 
ship of  the  living  God,  and  who  still  made  their  potent 
influence  felt  in  the  outrages  of  persecution  or  the  snares 
of  heretical  deceivers. 

We  know  little  but  the  names  of  any  cf  the  writers  of 
this  class  before  the  time  of  Justin  Martyr,  and  his  story 
is  mainly  eiven  us  in  his  works,  if  we  except 

j      rt_-  .J  ^  11  The  life  of 

the  record  of  his  martyrdom,     though  born       Justin 

in  a   city  of  Samaria,  he   came  seemingly 

of  Gentile  parents,  and  his  attention  was  only  drawn  to 

Christianity  when  he  saw  how  the  believers 

could  face  the  pains  of  death.     "  For  I  my-       Justjn>  AP- 

r  '  11.  12. 

self,''  he  writes,  "while  an  admirer  of  Pla- 
tonic thought,  heard  the  Christians  spoken  evil  of;  bur 


156  The  Age  of  i lie  Anto?iines.  ch.  vii. 

when  I  saw  them  fearless  in  regard  to  death,  and  to  all 
else  that  men  think  terrible,  I  began  to  see  that  they  could 
not  possibly  be  wicked  sensualists.  For  what  man  who  is 
licentious  or  incontinent  would  welcome  death  with  the 
certainty  of  losing  all  that  he  enjoys  ?  Would  he  not 
rather  try  to  live  on  as  before,  and  to  shun  the  notice  of 
the  rulers,  instead  of  giving  information  against  himself 
which  must  lead  to  his  death?'  He  had  passed  from 
one  system  to  another  of  the  ancient  schools  of  thought, 
seeking  from  each  sage  in  turn  to  learn  the  lessons 
of  a  noble  life;  but  only  when  he  heard  of  Christian 
truth  was  the  fire  lighted  in  his  soul,  and  he  knew  that 
the  object  of  his  search  was  in  his  grasp,  for  the  true 
philosophy  was  found  at  last.  He  tried  to  pass  it  on  to 
other  men,  wearing  as  before  the  wandering  scholar's 
mantle,  and  talked  with  men  of  every  race  about  the 
questions  of  the  faith. 

His  Apologies  were  addressed  by  him  to  the  Anto- 
nines  by  name,  with  what  effect  we  may  best  judge 
from  the  fact  that  he  closed  his  missionary  life  by  a 
martyr's  death  while  Marcus  Aurelius  was  on  the 
throne  ;  and  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  his  sentence 
was  pronounced  by  Rusticus  the  Praefect,  who  owed  his 
place  of  office  to  the  monarch's  gratitude  for  earlier 
lessons  of  morality. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE     CHARACTERISTICS     OF     THE     STATE-RELIGION    AND 
OF   THE   RITES    IMPORTED    FROM    THE    EAST. 

After  studying  the  progress  and  the  dangers  of  the 
Christian  church  we  mav  naturally  ask  what  was  the 
character  of  the  national  religion  which  it  tended  to  dis- 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.      1 5  7 

place.     An  old  inscription  tells  us  that  a  vote  of  thanks 
was  passed  by  the  Roman  Senate  in  honour  of  Antoninus 
Pius  for  his  scrupulous  care  for  all  the  ceremonial  obser- 
vances of  public  life.     There  was  indeed  no       ^ 
special  reason  why  the  Emperors  of  this  age       Emperors 
should  be  attached  to  the  old  forms  of  Roman       respond 
worship.     The    families    from    which    they       ^^ldof 
sprung-   had  been  lone  resident  in   foreign       national 

r  °  .  .  religion, 

lands;    by    taste    or    from    necessity    they 
passed  much  of  their  time  far  from  the  imperial  city ; 
their   culture  and  the  language  even  of  their    deepest 
thought  was  often  Greek,  and  they  had  few  ties  of  senti- 
ment to  bind  them  to  the  rites  of  purely  Italic  growth. 
But  it  had  been  part  of  the  policy  of  Augustus  to  begin 
a  sort  of  conservative  reform  in  faith  and  morals,  and  to 
lead   men  to  reverence  more   earnestly  the  religion  of 
their  fathers.       His    successors,   wanton    and    dissolute 
as  they  often  were,  professed  at  least  the  same  desire, 
and  expressed  it  often  in  enduring  shapes  and  costly 
ceremonials.      The    Emperors   of  the    second    century 
observed  with  more  consistent  care  the  same  tradition, 
carried   it  even  somewhat  to   extremes,   as   when    they 
stamped  upon  their  medals  the  legendary  fancies  of  an 
early  age,  and  linked  the  old  poetic  fictions  to  the  asso- 
ciations of  imperial  rule;  just  as  the  literary  fashion  of 
their  times  tried  to  express  its  complexities  of  thought 
and  feeling  in  the  archaic  rudeness  of  an  ancient  style. 
The  old  religion  of  Italic  growth  was  a  very  artless 
Nature  worship,  whose  deities,  with  uncouth  names,  were 
cold  abstractions  of  the  reason,  personified  as  yet  by  no 
poetic  fancy.     They  were  the   sexless  and  mysterious 
agencies  which  presided  over  the  processes  of  husband- 
ry, the  powers  of  stream  and  forest,  and  the  sanctities  of 
the  domestic  hearth.     After  a  time,  indeed,  the  exotic 


158  The  Age  of  the  Auto  nines.  ch.  vn. 

growth  of  Hellenism  overlaid  the  simple  forms,  which 
tended  perhaps  to  disappear  from  the  language  and 
thought  of  educated  men,  but  lingered  on  in  country 
life,  surviving  even  at  the  last  the  ruin  of  their  more  at 
tractive  rival.  Among  the  earliest  and  most 
mostdis-  distinctive  of  the  usages  of  natural  religion 

tmctiye  of         were  the  observances  of  the  collegia  or  con- 

w.uch  were  o 

the  customs        fraternities  which  served  as  organized  forms 

ot  the  ...  °. 

cuUegia  or  of  an  established  worship.  These  priest- 
hoods were  still  recruited  seemingly  with 
the  same  care  as  heretofore.  The  oldest  families  of 
Rome  were  represented  in  the  Salii,  among  whom  a  fu- 
ture Emperor,  as  we  have  seen,  was  entered  at  an  early- 
age,  and  took  pride  in  mastering  the  niceties  of  tradi- 
tional practice  ;  at  the  Lupercalia  the  half-naked  priests 
still  ran  along  the  streets  of  Rome,  using  the  time- 
honoured  words  and  symbols ;  and  the  Arval  Brothers 
went  through  their  ceremonial  round  with  formularies 
which  had  been  unchanged  for  ages. 

The  last  of  these  dated   certainly  from  immemorial 

antiquity,  for  the  foundation  legend  of  the  city  enrolled 

the  twins  of  Rhea  in  the  then  existing  bro- 

such  as  therhood.     During  the  whole  period  of  the 

th-itofthe  &  , 

Arval  Republic  its  prayers  and  offerings  continued 

to  express  the  hopes  and  fears  of  rural  life, 
though  history  has  passed  it  by  with  little  notice.  Even 
in  imperial  days,  when  liberal  schemes  of  re-endowment, 
due  probably  to  the  policy  of  Augustus,  had  raised  it  in 
the  social  scale,  we  should  know  scarcely  anything  of 
the  customs  of  its  members  if  we  were  left  only  to  the 
common  literary  sources.  But  a  lucky  accident  has 
saved  for  us  unusual  stores  of  evidence.  Year  by  year 
it  was  the  practice  to  have  careful  minutes  taken  of 
their  meetings  and  of  all  official  acts,  and   to   commit 


Forms  of  Worship  Sa?ictioned  by  the  State.      159 

fhem,  not  to  frail  materials  or  the  custody  of 

their  own  president,  but  to  monumental  cha-       the  official 

-1  registers  of 

racters  engraved  upon  the  walls  of  the  tern-  which  still 
pie  where  they  met.  Their  holy  place  was 
not  in  Rome  itself,  but  in  a  quiet  grove  five  miles  away, 
which  in  the  course  of  ages  has  become  a  vineyard, 
while  a  humble  cottage  has  replaced  the  shrine.  Some 
of  the  stone  slabs  which  lined  the  walls  have  been 
worked  into  the  masonry  of  other  buildings,  till  the  let- 
ters graven  on  them  have  caught  here  or  there  some 
curious  eyes.  One  such,. of  special  value,  containing  the 
oldest  form  of  an  Italian  liturgy,  was  found  a  century 
ago  in  a  chapel  of  St.  Peter's.  Only  a  few  years  ago  the 
Institute  of  Archaeology  at  Rome  resolved  to  explore  the 
field  in  which  the  temple  stood  in  search  of  further  evi- 
dence. The  scattered  fragments  of  the  stones  were 
pieced  together,  and  a  long  series  of  priestly  archives, 
reaching  from  the  days  of  Augustus  to  those  of  Gordian, 
reappeared  at  length  as  from  the  tomb. 

The   accounts   of  the   stated  meetings   and  of  many 
occasional  gatherings  are  given  with  surprising  fulness 
of  detail,  and  by  their  help  we  gain  an  in- 
sight quite  unique  into  much  of  the  symbo-       JJJ^JjJdSi 
lie  ritual  and  characteristic  worship  of  the       in  full 

.         .  detail, 

Romans.  Brothers  in  name,  and  twelve  in 
nymber.  to  correspond  to  the  twelve  lunar  months  in 
which  the  round  of  agricultural  labour  is  completed, 
they  were  at  first  the  spokesmen  of  the  Latin  husband- 
men who  offered  prayer  and  thanksgiving  for  the  pros- 
pects of  a  fruitful  season  ;  but  in  later  days  the  noblest 
families  of  Rome  were  proud  to  figure  on  the  list  of  a 
religious  guild  which  reckoned  at  times  an  Emperor  for 
its  high-priest. 

Its  greatest  festival  came  at  the  end  of  May,  when  the 


\  6 o  The  Age  of  the  A ntonines,  ch .  vi ; . 

first-fruits  of  the  earth    were  gathered,  and  a  blessing 
asked  upon  the  works  of  coming  harvest, 
especially  Three  days  the  holy  season  lasted.  The  first 

festival.  and  third  were  kept  at  Rome,  but  the  second 

fS^aJSJ3'  must  be  spent  among  the  scenes  of  rural  life 
and  the  brooding  sanctities  of  Nature.  At 
early  dawn  the  president  passed  out  of  the  city  walls  to 
the  Tetrastylum  or  Guildhall,  enclosed  in  its  four  lines 
of  colonnade.  Robing  himself  here  in  his  dress  of  state 
with  purple  stripe,  he  went  at  once  to  the  entrance  of 
the  sacred  grove,  where  he  offered  swine  on  one  altar 
and  a  white  heifer  on  a  second,  to  appease  the  sylvan 
deities  whose  mysterious  peace  was  to  be  that  day  dis- 
turbed. While  the  victims  were  roasting  on  the  flames, 
the  other  priests  were  all  assembling,  and  each  in  turn 
must  enter  his  name  on  the  official  register ;  which  done, 
they  laid  their  robes  aside  and  breakfasted  upon  the 
viands  which  were  now  ready  on  the  altars.  The  hours 
that  followed  were  given  to  repose  in  the  cool  shade, 
but  at  mid-day  another  service  must  begin.  Robed  in 
the  dress  of  state,  with  ears  of  corn  wreathed  round  their 
heads,  they  paced  in  ceremonial  procession  through  the 
grove  up  to  the  central  shrine  where  the  lamb  was 
offered  on  the  altar.  The  wine  and  meal  were  sprinkled 
on  the  ground,  the  clouds  of  incense  filled  the  air,  and 
the  jars  of  antique  form  which  held  the  bruised  meal  of 
earlier  days  were  exposed  to  reverent  adoration  in  the 
shrine.  Once  more  they  issued  from  the  doors,  with 
censers  in  their  hands,  and  offerings  to  the  treasury,  and 
libations  poured  from  silver  cups.  Two  priests  were 
then  despatched  to  gather  the  first-fruits  from  left  to  right 
through  the  whole  company,  and  back  again.  Then 
with  closed  doors  they  touched  the  jars  of  meal,  and 
murmured   over  each  the   solemn  words  of  dedication, 


Forms  of  Worship  Sxnctioned  by  the  State.      161 

and  brought  them  out  to  be  flung  at  last  down  the  hill- 
side before  the  temple.  The  priests  rested  for  a  while 
upon  their  marble  seats,  and  took  from  their  servants* 
hands  the  rolls  of  bread  bedecked  with  laurel  leaves, 
and  poured  their  unguents  on  the  images  around  them. 
The  laity  must  then  withdraw  ;  the  doors  were  barred, 
while  the  priests  girded  their  flowing  dress  about  their 
loins,  and  took  each  his  copy  of  the  service  books  in 
which  were  written  the  old  liturgies  whose  meaning  no 
one  present  knew.  The  venerable  chant  was  sung  with 
the  cadenced  movements  of  the  old  Latin  dance,  and 
then  the  servants  reappeared  with  garlands  which  were 
placed  upon  the  statues  of  the  gods.  The  solemn  forms 
were  at  an  end.  The  election  of  the  president  for  another 
year  was  followed  by  the  customary  greetings  (fclicia), 
and  the  priests  left  the  grove  to  rest  in  their  own  hall, 
and  to  dine  in  pomp  after  the  labours  of  the  day.  The 
dinner  over,  they  crowned  themselves  with  roses  and 
betook  themselves  with  slippered  feet  to  the  amusements 
of  the  circus  which  were  held  close  by,  and  closed  the 
festival  with  a  supper  party  in  the  high-priest's  house  at 
Rome. 

In  the  proceedings  of  the  Arval  Brotherhood  we  may 
note  three  features  which  seem  to  character-    Wc  m 
ise  the  national  religion  of  the  Romans.  note  '". their 

13  proceedings, 

(l)  Its  punctilious  regard  for  ancient  forms    ist,  their 

,  punctilious 

may  be  read  in  every  line  of  tho?e  old  ar-    regard  for 
chives.  The  deity  worshipped  in  that  shrine    foJJJJ^1 
was  a  nameless  Dea  Dia  still,  as  in  the  days 
before  Greek  fancy  made  its  way  to  Latium  ;  the  primitive 
religious  dance  (tripodiatus)  was  scrupulously  observed  ; 
the  rude  instruments   of  barbarous  ages  were  still  used, 
though  else  unknown ;  the  words  of  the  chant  they  had 
to  sing  were  so  archaic  that  they  could    not  trust  their 


1 62  The  Age  of  the  An  to  nines.  ch.  vii. 

memories  without  the  book.  The  fear  to  employ  any 
instruments  of  iron  in  the  grove  ;  the  changes  of  drczs 
and  posture  and  demeanour  ;  the  careful  entry  in  the 
registers  of  each  stage  in  the  long  ceremonial  service  ; 
these  are  examples  of  a  Pharisaic  care  for  outward  usages 
which  may  be  often  found  elsewhere  in  the  history  of 
symbolism,  but  which  in  this  case  seem  to  have  passed 
at  last  into  a  stately  picture  language  which  spoke  noth- 
ing to  the  reason  and  little  to  the  heart. 

(2)  It  had  therefore  little  influence  on  man's  moral 
nature,  and  scarcely  touched  the  temper  of  his  character 
or  the  practice  of  his  workday  life.  For  the  most  part 
the  deities  whom  they  adored  had  each  his  toll  of  offering 

and  due  respect,  but  did  not  claim  to  guide 
2nd,  the  .  \  .  •  °     . 

absence  of  the  will  or  check  the  passions.  Ceremonial 
spiritual  obedience  might  serve  to  disarm  their  jeal- 

mflueuce;  ousy  or  win  their  favour,  and  men  need  not 

look  to  any  spiritual  influence  beyond.  The  priests  had 
never  been  the  social  moralists  of  Rome  ;  preaching  and 
catechizing  were  unheard  of;  and  the  highest  function- 
aries of  religion  might  be  and  sometimes  were  men  of 
scandalous  life  and  notorious  unbelief.  The  history  of 
the  Arval  Brotherhood  may  help  to  illustrate  the  general 
truth.  In  the  lists  recorded  in  its  archives  may  be  found 
the  names  of  many  of  the  most  profligate  worldlings  of 
imperial  times,  but  very  few  of  good  repute.  Court 
favour  gave  a  title  to  the  priesthood.  Its  practical  con- 
cern was  the  enjoyment  of  good  cheer,  and  the  inscrip- 
tions carefully  record  the  sum  which  was  allotted  for 
each  banquet  by  the  state,  and  the  drinking  cup  which 
was  put  for  every  guest.  One  list  of  the  year  37  tells  us 
that  the  Emperor  Caligula  presided  on  the  day  of  the  great 
festival,  and  though  he  was  too  late  to  be  present  at  the 
sacrifice,  still  he  was  there  at  least  in  time  for  dinner.  Of 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.      163 

the  seven  names  which  follow  his,  two  were  borne  by- 
noblemen  of  exceptionally  immoral  habits,  a  third  is 
called  by  Tacitus  of  a  self-indulgent  nature,  and  not  one 
displayed  any  great  qualities  in  public  life.  Five  out  of 
the  seven  died  a  felon's  death,  or  to  escape  it  laid  violent 
hands  upon  themselves. 

(3)  The  Romans  had  their  national  worship,  their 
church  as  established  by  the  state.  The  priesthoods  had 
been  commonly  faithful  servants  of  the  governing 
powers,  and  had  never  raised  the  cry  of  rights  of  con- 
science or  of  spiritual  freedom.  The  Arval  Brotherhood 
had  certainly  the  temper  of  unquestioning  rd  ^^ 
loyalty.     We  need  not,  indeed,  lay  special    loyalty  to 

.  .  .  •  established 

stress  upon  the  recurring  usage  of  state  pray-  powers  of 
ers  in  which  they  joined  at  every  opening 
year  together  with  the  whole  official  world;  but  it  is  cun 
ous  to  turn  over  the  archives  of  the  eventful  year  69,  ii 
which  four  Emperors  followed  each  other  on  the  throne, 
and  in  which  the  Brothers  took  the  oath  of  fealty  to  each 
with  equal  readiness,  meeting  one  day  under  the  presi- 
dency of  their  prince,  and  five  days  afterwards  hailing 
the  murderer  as  his  successor.  Sometimes  they  met  ta 
commemorate  events  of  national  importance,  as  in  the 
days  of  festival  for  Trajan's  Dacian  victories.  But  be- 
sides this  we  have  in  the  first  century  a  whole  series  of 
days  of  thanksgiving  and  intercession  connected  chiefly 
with  the  fortunes  of  the  imperial  family,  whose  chiefs 
had  been  first  patrons  and  then  deities  of  the  old  guild. 
The  Flavian  dynasty  and  the  Antonines  were  too  sensible 
and  modest  to  care  much  for  such  official  flattery,  and 
possibly  they  may  have  grudged  the  sums  allotted  to 
such  a  costly  round  of  entertainments;  so  the  meetings 
of  the  priests  grew  fewer,  and  the  entries  in  the  registers 
were  rarer,  save  for  the  May  festivals  of  early  usage. 


164  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vn. 

The  creed  and  ritual  of  ancient  Rome  were  too  cold 
and  meagre  and  devoid  of  all  emotional  power  to  content 
the  people's  hearts.  The  luxuriant  creations  of  Hellenic 
fancy,  the  stirring  excitements  of  the  Eastern  worships, 
gradually  came  in  to  fill  the  void,  till  at  last 
ligion  was"        a^  ^ie  religions  of  the  world  found  a  home 

too  cold  and         m  t]le  imperial  city> 
meagre  ior  >■  J 

men  s  The  Greek  colonists  who    early  pushed 

their  way  along  the  coasts  of  southern 
Italy  handed  on  the  legends  and  the  rites  of  Greece, 
which  even  in  the  regal  period  gained,  through  the 
Sibylline  books,  a  footing  in  the  state  which  literary 
influences  constantly  increased.  As  Rome's  conquering 
arms  were  stretched  forth  to  embrace  the  world,  as 
strangers  flocked  to  see  the  mistress  of  the  nations,  and 
slaves  of  every  race  were  gathered  within  her  walls,  the 
names  and  attributes  of  foreign  deities  began  to  natura- 
lize themselves  almost  of  right,  and  to  spread  insensibly 
from  aliens  to  Romans. 

Polytheism    has    commonly    a    tolerant    and    elast!^ 

system.     It  seldom  tries  to  impose  its  creed  by  forc,^  on 

other  races,  or  to  resist  the  worship  of  new 

supple^  g°ds  as  a  dishonour  to  the  old.    Accustomed 

mented  by         already    to  the  thought   of  a  multitude  of 

exotic  J  °  . 

creeds  and  unearthly  powers,  it  has  no  scruple  in 
adding  to  their  number,  and  prefers  to  bor- 
row the  guardians  of  other  races  rather  than  force  them 
to  accept  its  own.  So  as  land  after  land  was  added  to 
the  Empire,  protection  and  honour  were  accorded  to  the 
forms  of  local  worship,  and  ail  the  subject  nations  were 
allowed  to  adore  the  objects  of  their  choice.  If  any  of 
them  left  their  homes,  they  clung,  of  course,  to  the  old 
rites,  and  might  enjoy  them  undisturbed  at  Rome.  It 
was,  however,  quite  another  thing  to  let  them  pass  be- 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.      165 

yond  the  bounds  both  of  country  and  of  race,  and  to 
give  them  the  sanction  of  the  state  as  a  form  of  the 
established  faith  of  Rome.  Still  more  so  when  the  latest 
comers,  who  claimed  to  set  up  their  altars  and  their 
temples  in  the  streets,  shocked  the  old-fashioned  scruples 
of  the  ruling  statesmen  by  their  extravagance  or  sensual 
licence,  or  when  it  seemed  that  secret  societies  were 
spreading  through  the  people  under  the  cover  of  reli- 
gious names.    Then  the  government  stepped         ,., 

D  ^  x  1  which  were 

in  with   force  or  menace,  stamped  out  the      only  feebly 

t->  1  1  •  r  t  •  1  -II  opposed  by 

Bacchanalia,  for  example,  with  terrible  the  civil 
decision,  and  had  the  shrine  of  Isis  levelled  Power> 
to  the  ground,  though  the  consul's  hand  had  to  strike 
the  first  blow  with  the  axe  when  meaner  arms  were  para- 
lysed with  fear.  Even  after  the  days  of  the  Republic, 
Augustus,  who  had  shown  honour  to  Serapis  in  his  Egyp- 
tian home,  forbade  his  worship  on  the  soil  of  Italy.  Yet 
these  were  only  passing  measures,  ineffectual  to  stay  the 
stream  of  innovation.  On  one  pretext  or  another,  the 
sanction  of  the  state  was  given  to  the  alien  rites  ;  a  war 
or  a  pestilence  was  at  times  enough  to  excuse  an  appeal 
to  some  new  tutelary  power,  and  even  to  cause  invita- 
tions to  be  sent  to  distant  gods.  As  the  sense  of  the 
imperial  unity  grew  stronger,  the  distinction  between 
the  religious  life  of  the  centre  and  the  provinces  seemed 
more  arbitrary  and  unmeaning  ;  and  though  many  a 
moralist  of  antique  spirit  gravely  disapproved  of  the  tone 
and  temper  of  the  eastern  creeds,  yet  the  rulers  gradually 
ceased  to  put  any  check  upon  their  spread,  so  long  a9 
each  was  satisfied  to  take  his  place  beside  the  rest  with- 
out intolerant  aggression  or  defiance  of  the  civil  power. 

There  was,  besides,  another  tendency  which  made  it 
easier  to  enlarge  the  national  Pantheon.  Mary  a  scru- 
ple was  disarmed   when  men  were  told  that  the  new- 


1 66  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vn. 

comers  were  only  the  old  familiar  powers  disguised  in  a 
new  shape.  Comparison  had  shown  the  likeness  some- 
times of  usages  and  prayers  in  different  lands,  sometimes 
of  the  attributes  assigned,  or  of  the  poetic  fancies  which 
had  grown  up  in  time  round  venerable  names.  Sincere 
believers  felt  a  comfort  in  the  thought  that  all  the  multi- 
tude of  rival  deities  which  seemed  to  have  a  claim  on 
their  respect  consisted  really  of  the  many  masks  assumed 
by  the  same  personal  agencies,  or  were  even 

and  were 

welcomed  separate    qualities     ol     the    One    Heavenly 

nundTsuch  Father.  Plutarch,  priest  of  the  Pythian 
as  Plutarch  Apollo  and  a  devout  adherent  of  the  old 
religion  of  his  fathers,  yet  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  gods  of 
Egypt  in  which  he  tried  to  prove  that  they  were  in  truth 
only  the  gods  of  Greece,  worshipped  with  mysterious 
rites  and  somewhat  weird  suggestions  of  the  fancy, 
which,  however,  found  a  counterpart  at  home  in  the  na- 
tive outgrowths  of  the  Hellenic  mind.  The  truth  which 
the  figurative  language  of  their  ritual  shadowed  forth 
was  one  expressed  in  many  another  symbol  ;  the  pow- 
ers of  heaven  were  well  content  that  men  should  read  it, 
and  would  yield  their  secrets  with  a  good  grace  to  the 
earnest  seeker.  He  felt,  therefore,  the  more  attracted  to 
the  mystic  obscurity  of  that  old  culture  of  the  Pharaohs, 
of  which  the  Sphinxes  were  the  aptest  tokens,  certain  as 
he  was  that  all  its  riddles  might  be  read,  and  would  yield 
an  harmonious  and  eternal  truth. 

Plutarch  never  doubted  of  the  personal  existence  of 
the  beings  whom  he  adored,  and  never  resolved  them 
into  mere  abstractions.  Others  there  were  with  piety  no 
less  real  than  his,  who  regarded  all  the  forms  of  popular 

, ,.    .  religion  as  useful  in  their  various  degrees, 

and  Maxi-  °  ° 

mus  Tyrius,      but  as   all  alike   adequate    to    express    the 
to.  truths  which  were  ineffable.     "  Doubtless," 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.      167 

says  one  of  them,  "  God  the  Father  and  Creator 
of  the  Universe  is  more  ancient  than  the  sun  or  hea- 
vens, is  greater  than  time,  superior  to  all  that  abides 
and  all  that  changes.  Nameless  He  is,  and  far  away 
out  of  our  ken  ;  but  as  we  cannot  grasp  in  thought  His 
being,  we  borrow  the  help  of  words,  and  names,  and 
animals,  and  figures  of  gold  and  ivory;  of  plants  and 
streams,  and  mountain  heights  and  torrents.  Yearning 
after  Him,  yet  helpless  to  attain  to  Him,  we  attribute  to 
Him  all  that  is  most  excellent  among  us.  So  do  the 
lovers  who  are  fain  to  contemplate  the  image  of  the 
persons  whom  they  love  ;  who  fondly  gaze  at  the  lyre  or 
dart  which  they  have  handled,  or  the  chair  on  which 
they  sat,  or  anything  which  helps  to  bring  the  dear  one 
to  their  thoughts.  Let  us  only  have  the  thought  of  God. 
If  the  art  of  Phidias  awakens  this  thought  among  the 
Greeks;  if  the  worship  of  animals  does  the  like  for  the 
Egyptians ;  if  here  a  river  and  there  the  fire  does  the 
same,  it  matters  little.  I  do  not  blame  variety.  Only 
let  us  know  God  and  love  Him;  only  let  us  keep  His 
memory  abiding  in  our  hearts." 

In  place  of  the  matter-of  fact  and  ceremonious  religion 
of  the  Latin  farmers,  we  may  trace  in  course  of  time  new 
thoughts  and  feelings  roused  to  play  their  part  in  a  rich 
variety  of  spiritual  moods.  We  may  trace  the  mystic 
reveries  and  ecstatic  visions  such  as  those  which  convent 
life  has  often  nursed  in  pious  souls  of  later  times,  where 
the  fancy,  living  overmuch  in  the  world  of  the  unseen, 
loses  its  sense  of  the  reality  and  due  proportions  of  the 
things  of  earth.  We  hear  of  sensitive  and  enthusiastic 
natures  who  see  so  clearly  the  special  providence  which 
broods  over  their  lives,  and  feel  so  keenly  love  and 
gratitude  for  all  the  mercies  given  to  them,  that  they 
speak  of  themselves  as  the  elect  predestined  to  the  favour 


i68  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vii. 

of  heaven.  They  feel  the  workings  of  God's  spirit  in 
their  hearts  ;  they  see  in  every  turn  of  life  the  traces  of 
His  guiding  hand,  and  airy  visitants  from  other  worlds 
look  in  upon  them  in  their  dreams. 

Such  a  one  was  the  rhetorician  Aristides,  who,  after 
suffering  for  long  years  from  a  malady  which  none  could 
cure,  devoted  himself  to  the  service  of  the  god  Asclepius 
(whom  the  Latins  called  y^Esculapius),  living  mainly  in 
his  temple  with  his  priests,  seeing  him  in  visions  of  the 
night,  following  implicitly  the  warnings  sent  in  sleep, 
and  falling  into  trances  of  unspeakable  enjoyment. 
Proud  of  the  privileges  of  his  special  revela- 

and  Aristides,  l  .        .  . 

who  was  full  lation,  he  wrote  out  in  impassioned  style 
reveneVand  his  sacred  sermons,  published,  as  he  said, 
visions.  at  «.|le  dictation  of  his  heavenly  patron.    He 

tcld  the  story  of  his  ecstatic  moods,  of  the  promised 
recovery  of  strength  which  followed  in  due  course,  of  the 
deliverance  from  instant  danger  vouchsafed  to  him  at 
the  great  earthquake  of  Smyrna,  of  the  comfort  of 
the  abiding  presence  of  a  saving  Spirit,  and  his  thank- 
fulness for  the  old  trial  of  sickness  which  brought  him 
to  the  notice  of  a  protector  so  benign. 

Mystic  aspirations  point  to  the  hope  of  a  closer  union 
with  the  Divine  than  the  trammels  of  our  common  life . 
allow.     To  rise  above  these'  limitations,*  to 

New  moods  -. 

of  ecstatic  lose  the  sense   of  personal  being,  and    al 

most  indeed  of  consciousness,  in  the  pul- 
sations of  a  higher  life — to  this  the  enthusiasm  of  devo* 
tion  points  in  many  a  different  name  and  race.  Most 
commonly,  with  this  end  in  view,  the  soul  would  keep 
the  body  under  and  starve  it  with  ascetic  rigour,  while 
the  spirit  beats  against  its  prison  bars,  panting  for  a 
freer  and  purer  air.  Examples  of  such  austerity  of  self- 
denial  may  be  also  found  in  heathen  times  ;  weary  jour- 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.      169 
neyings  to  holy  places  visited  by  countless 

J      °  J    L  .  .         self-denial, 

pilgrims,  who  must  be  meanly  ted  and 
hardly  lodged  if  they  would  hope  to  gain  the  gladness 
of  the  beatific  vision.  Recluses  too  there  were  in  Egypt, 
giving  their  lives  without  reserve  to  holy  meditation, 
and  hoping  to  draw  nearer  to  their  God  by  well  nigh 
ceasing  to  be  men.  More  frequently  they  had  recourse 
to  the  influence  of  high  wrought  feeling,  to  the 

°  excitement, 

electric  sympathies  by  which  strong  waves 
of  passion  sweep  across  excited  crowds,  and  carry  them 
beside  themselves  in  transports  of  enthusiasm.  By  the 
wild  dance  and  maddening  din,  by  fleshly  horrors  self- 
imposed,  or  the  orgies  of  licentious  pleasure,  by  vivid 
imagery  to  make  the  illusion  of  the  fancy  more  com- 
plete, they  worked  upon  the  giddy  brain  and  quivering 
nerves,  till  the  excited  votaries  of  Isis  or  Adonis  passed 
beyond  the  narrow  range  of  everyday  life  into  the  frenzy 
of  religious  ecstacy  and  awe. 

In  the  early  Roman  creed  there  was  little  room  for 
the  hopes  or  fears  of  a  life  to  come.  But  there  is  a 
yearning  in  the  mind  to  pierce  the  veil  which  hides  the 
future  from  the  sight,  and  many  a  prophecy  was  brought 
from  other  lands,  couched  in  hopeful  or  in  warning  tones, 
here  darkly  hinted  in  enigmas,  here  loudly  proclaimed 
in  confidence  outspoken,  there  acted  in  dramatic  forms 
before  the  kindling  fancy  as  in  the  ancient  mysteries  of 
Greece,  or  in  more  questionable  shapes  in  the  ritual  of 
Eastern  creeds. 

Another  influence  was  brought   to  bear   on  Western 
thought  in  the  deeper  sense  of  sinfulness,  as  the  pollu- 
tion of  the  guilty  soul  and  an  outrage  on  the 
majesty  of  God.     With  this  came  in  natural       and  mystic 

■>        J  gloom, 

course  the  greater  influence  of  the  priests, 

to  whom  the  stricken  conscience  turned  in  its  bewilder- 


1 70  The  Age  of  the  Antofiines.  ch.  vu. 

merit  or  its  despair.     For  they  alone   could    read  with 

confidence  the  tokens  of  the  will  of  heaven,  they  alone 

knew   the    forms    of  intercession    or   atonement   which 

might  bring  peace  by  promises  of  pardon.     No  longer 

silent  ministers  engaged  in  the  mere  round  of  outward 

forms  as  servants  of  the  state ;  they  wan- 
are  J 

encouraged        dered   to  and  fro  to  spread  the  worship  of 

bv  the  ,      .  .  .  .  .      x  . 

religions  of  their  patron  saints,  sometimes  with  the 
the  East.  fervour  of  devoted  faith,   sometimes  work- 

ing on  men's  hopes  and  fears  to  gain  a  readier  sale  for 
their  indulgences  and  priestly  charms,  sometimes  like 
sordid  mountebanks  and  jugglers  catering  for  the  won- 
der loving  taste  of  credulous  folks  by  sleight  of  hand 
and  magic  incantations. 

Among  the  most  striking  of  such  innovations  due  to 

the  spread  of  Oriental  symbolism  was  the  costly  rite  of 

taurobolium,  in  which  recourse  was  had  to 

The  striking      j-hg  pUrify'mg  influence  of  blood.    Known  to 

observance  .  . 

of  the  taziro-  us  chiefly  by  inscriptions,  of  which  the  ear- 
liest dates  from  the  reign  of  Hadrian,  we 
have  reason  to  believe  that  the  usage  came  from  Asia  as 
a  solemn  sacrifice  in  honour  of  the  Phrygian  Mother  of 
the  Gods.  From  Southern  Italy  it  passed  to  Gaul,  and 
in  the  busy  town  of  Lugdunum  (Lyons),  the  meeting- 
point  of  traders  of  all  races,  it  was  celebrated  with  more 
than  common  pomp.  It  was  the  more  impressive  from 
its  rarity,  for  so  great  seemingly  was  the  cost  of  the  ar- 
rangements, that  only  the  wealthy  could  defray  it.  Cor- 
porations, therefore,  and  town-councils  came  forward  to 
undertake  the  burden,  when  dreams  and  oracles  and 
priestly  prophecies  had  expressed  the  sovereign  pleasure 
of  the  goddess.  Ceremonies  on  such  a  scale  could  be' 
held  only  by  the  sanction  of  the  ruling  powers,  and  it 
would  seem  that  an  official  character  was  given  to  the 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.      1  7 1 

rites  by  the  presence  of  the  magistrates  in  robes  of  state. 
The  crowning  act  of  a  long  round  of  solemn  forms  was 
the  slaughter  of  the  bull  itself,  from  which  the  whole  rite 
had  drawn  its  name.  The  votary  in  whose  behalf  the 
offering  was  made  descended  with  silken  dress  and 
crown  of  gold  into  a  sort  of  fresh-dug  grave,  above 
which  planks  were  spread  to  hold  the  bull  and  sacrificing 
priest.  As  the  blow  fell  upon  the  victim's  neck,  the 
streams  of  blood  which  came  pouring  from  the  wound 
flowed  through  the  chinks  and  fittings  of  the  wood,  and 
bathed  the  worshipper  below.  From  the  cleansing 
virtue  of  the  blood,  he  became  henceforth  spiritually 
regenerate  (in  aeternum  renatus),  and  at  the  time  an 
object  almost  of  adoration  to  the  gazing  crowds.  We 
need  not  wonder  that  the  writers  of  the  early  church 
indignantly  opposed  such  heathen  rites,  which  seemed 
to  them  a  hideous  caricature  of  the  two  great  topics  of 
their  faith,  Christian  Baptism  and  Redemption. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  perhaps  that  any  of 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  naturalised  in  later  days  at 
Rome  were  wholly  new  and  unfamiliar.  In  weaker 
moods,  in  rudimentary  forms,  they  maybe  traced  in  the 
religion  of  the  earliest  da>s,  and  so  too  even  the  outer 
forms  of  worship,  the  mystic  rites  and  orgies  had  their 
counterparts  in  ancient  Rome.     Some  scope 

r  ,        r  tit-  The  new- 

was  given  from  the  first  to  sacerdotal  claims,    comers  were 
some  priestly  functions  had    been   claimed    Jive  side  by 
by  women,  which   made    it  easier   in    later    side  in 

J  peace  in  the 

times    for  priests  to  gain   ascendancy,  and    imperial 

,  ,  ....  Ppntheon. 

women  to  play  so  large  a  part  in  the  religion 
of  the  Empire.     But  the  Eastern  influence  gave  inten- 
sity of  life  to  what  before  was  faint  and  unobtrusive.     It 
vivified   the  unseen  world   which  was  vanishing   away 
before  the  practical  materialism  of  the  Roman  mind.     It 


Zy2  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vn. 

coloured  and  animated  with  emotional  fervour  the  pale 
and  rigid  forms  of  social  duties.  It  was  the  informing 
spirit  which  was  new,  and  this  could  pass  into  any  of  the 
multitudinous  creeds  which  now  lived  side  by  side  in 
peace.  They  could  and  did  compete  for  popular  favour, 
without  bitterness  or  rancour  in  their  rivalry;  and  the 
priests  of  one  deity  could  be  votaries  of  another,  be- 
lieving, as  they  often  did,  that  the  same  Power  was 
worshipped  under  different  disguises  of  nationality  and 
language.  Each  took  its  place  within  the  imperial  Pan- 
theon, without  the  hope  or  wish  to  displace  others.  Two 
systems  only  proudly  stood  aloof —the  Jewish  Synagogue, 
whose  energies  were  centred  in  the  work  of  explaining 
and  commenting  on  its  Sacred  Books ;  the  Christian 
church  which  was  turning  from  its  fond  hopes  of  the 
speedy  fulfilment  of  its  kingdom  of  heaven,  to  engage 
in  a  struggle  of  life  and  death,  in  which  all  the  iron  dis- 
cipline and  social  forces  of  the  Empire  stood  arrayed 
against  it,  while  it  was  armed  only  with  the  weapons  of 
mutual  kindliness  and  earnest  faith  and  inextinguisha- 
ble hope. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   LITERARY   CURRENTS    OF   THE   AGE. 

The  period   of  the  Antonines  abounded  with  libraries 
and  schools  and  authors,  with  a  reading  public,  and  all 
the  outward  tokens  of  an  educated  love  of 
spread  letters.     Never  has  there  been  more  enthu- 

enthusiasm        siasm  for  high   culture,  more   careful  studv 

for  learning,  °  _   " 

butwmtof        of  the  graces  of  a  literary  style,  more  criti- 

creative  ,  .  .  ,  ,  ,    , 

power.  cal  acquaintance  with  good   models,  more 

interchange  of  sympathy  between  professors 


CH.  VIII.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  173 

of  the  different  schools  ;  and  yet  there  were  but  scanty 
harvests  from  all  this  intellectual  husbandry.  There 
was  no  creative  thought  evolved,  no  monument  of  con- 
summate art  was  reared,  no  conquest  of  original  research 
achieved. 

The  scribendi  cacoethes,  the  mania  for  scribbling, 
poured  forth  vast  quantities  of  literary  matter ;  but  most 
of  it  fell  at  once  still-born,  and  much  of  what  remains 
has  little  value  for  us  now,  save  to  illustrate  the  condi- 
tions of  the  times.  The  men  are  of  more  interest  to  us 
than  their  works.  There  was  colour  and  variety  in  the 
features  of  their  social  status ;  there  were  curious  analo- 
gies to  the  history  of  later  days  ;  but  we  are  likely  to 
gather  from  their  writings  rather  a  series  of  literary 
portraits,  than  ideas  to  enrich  the  thought  and  fancy,  or 
models  of  art  to  guide  our  taste. 

The  culture  of  the  age  was  mainly  Greek.     Hellenic 
•  nfiuence    had   spread   long    since    far    into    the    East. 
<\mong  the  populous  towns  of  Asia  Minor  it 
ruled  entirely  without  a  rival ;  it  had  pushed       The  culture 
its  wav  through  Svria,  and  almost  to  the  line       was  mainly 

_     ,         _       ,  ,.,       -ill  Greek, 

of  the  Euphrates ;  while  it  held  many  an 
outpost  of  civilized  life  in  the  colonies  planted  long  ago 
among  the  ruder  races  of  the  North.  Through  all  of 
these  the  liberal  studies  were  diffused,  and  in  their 
schools  the  language  of  Demosthenes  was  spoken  with 
little  loss  of  purity  and  grace.  From  them,  as  well  as 
from  Athens  and  her  neighbours,  came  the  instructors 
who  taught  the  Western  world  ;  from  them  came  the  new- 
est literary  wares,  and  the  ruling  fashions  of  the  season  ; 
and  even  in  countries  such  as  Gaul,  where  Rome  had  i 
stamped  so  forcibly  the  impress  of  her  language  and  her 
manners,  scholars  who  hoped  for  influence  beyond  a 
narrow  local  circle,  often  wrote  and  thought  in  Greek,  as 


174  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii. 

the  speech  of  the  whole  civilized  world.  The  old  Ro- 
man tongue  grew  rapidly  more  feeble  and  less  pure, 
with  few  exceptions  the  learned  declined  to  write  in  it, 
and  an  Emperor,  as  we  have  seen,  even  in  the  memoirs 
written  for  no  eye  save  his  own,  expressed  his  deepest 
thoughts  and  feelings  not  in  Latin  but  in  Greek. 

The  career  of  a  man  of  letters  was  chiefly  professorial, 

and  his  works  were  meant  more  for  the  ear  than  for  the 

eye.     His   sphere  of  action  commonly  was 

and  pro-  found  in  lectures,  conferences,  public  read- 

iessonal.  '  r 

ings,  panegyrics,  debates,  and  intellectual 
tournaments  of  every  kind.  For  the  scholars  of  those 
days  were  not  content  to  stay  at  home  and  be  prophets 
to  their  countrymen  alone,  or  to  trust  to  written  works 
to  spread  their  fame ;  but  they  travelled  far  away  from 
land  to  land,  and  ever  as  they  went  they  practised  their 
ready  wit  and  fluent  tongue.  Like  their  prototypes  in 
earlier  days,  the  rivals  of  Socrates  and  the  objects  of  the 
scorn  of  Plato,  they  were  known  by  the  old  name  of  So- 
phist, which  implied  their  claim  to  be  learned  if  not  to  be 
wise,  and  the  term  was  used  without  reproach  of  the 
most  famous  of  their  number,  whose  lives  were  written 
bv  Philostratus.  Citizens  of  the  world,  and  self-stvled 
professors  in  the  widespread  university  of  culture,  they 
found  full  liberty  of  speech  and  an  eager  audience  in 
every  town.  For  though  the  times  were  changed  many 
of  the  habits  of  the  old  Republic  lingered  still  ;  and 
though  the  stormy  debates  of  politics  were  silenced,  and 
the  thunders  of  the  orators  of  old  were  heard  no  more, 
still  the  art  of  public  speech  was  passionately  prized,  and 
men  were  trained  even  from  their  childhood  to  studv  the 
grace  and  power  of  language,  and  to  crave  some  novel 
form  of  intellectual  stimulus. 

So  when  the  travelling  Sophist  was  heard  of  in  their 


CH.  vni.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  175 

midst,  the  townsmen  flocked  with  curious  ears  about  the 
stranger,  as  the  crowd  slathered  around  Paul 

0  °  J  he    van  >us 

upon  Mars'  Hill,  eager  to  hear  and  tell  of  cla-ses  of 
some  new  thing.  Sometimes  it  was  a  scholar 
of  renown  who  came  with  a  long  train  of  admirers,  for 
young  and  old  went  far  afield  in  search  of  knowledge, 
and  attached  themselves  for  years  to  a  great  teacher, 
like  the  students  of  the  middle  ages  who  passed  in 
numbers  from  one  famous  university  of  Europe  to 
another,  attracted  by  the  name  of  some  great  master. 
Then  the  news  passed  along  the  streets,  and  time  and 
place  were  fixed  for  a  lecture  of  display ;  the  magistrates 
came  in  state  to  do  the  speaker  honour,  and  even  an 
Emperor  at  times  deigned  to  look  in,  and  set  the  ex- 
ample of  applause  with  his  own  hands.  Sometimes  a 
young  aspirant  came  in  quest  of  laurels,  to  challenge  to 
a  trial  of  skill  the  veteran  whose  art  was  thought  by  his 
countrymen  to  be  beyond  compare.  Sometimes  came 
one  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new-found  truth,  to 
maintain  some  striking  paradox,  to  advocate  a  moral 
system,  or  some  fresh  canon  of  literary  taste.  Like  the 
great  schoolmen  of  the  age  of  Dante,  or  the  Admirable 
Pico  of  a  later  time,  they  posted  up  the  theses  which 
they  would  hold  against  all  comers,  and  were  ready  in 
their  infinite  presumption  to  discourse  of  all  the  universe 
of  thought  and  being  (de  omni  scibili  et  ente),  and  when 
weary  of  the  sameness  of  the  scholar's  life  wandered 
like  knights  errant  round  the  world  in  search  of  intel- 
lectual adventures.  Sometimes  it  was  a  poor  vagrant 
with  a  tattered  mantle,  who  gathered  a  crowd  around 
him  in  the  streets,  and  declaimed  with  rude  energy 
against  the  luxury  and  wantonness  of  the  life  of  cities, 
bidding  men  look  within  them  for  the  sources  of  true 
happiness  and  worthy  manhood.      Like  the  preaching 


i  ^6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii. 

friars  of  the  Christian  church,  they  appealed  to  every 
class  without  distinction,  startling  the  careless  by  tneir 
examples  of  unworldliness,  and  striking  them  often  on 
the  chords  of  higher  feeling,  as  they  spoke  to  die  rich 
and  noble  in  the  plain  language  of  uncourt'iy  warn- 
ing. Yet  often  the  Cynic's  mantle  was  only  a  dis- 
guise for  sturdy  beggars,  disgusting  decent  folks  by 
their  importunate  demands,  and  dragging  good  names 
and  high  professions  through  the  mire  of  sensuality  and 
lust. 

The  name  of  Sophist  was  applied  m  common  speech 
to  two  great  classes,  which,  rivals  as  they  were  for  popu- 
lar esteem,  and  scorntui  as  was  each  of  the 

falling  under  , ... 

the  main  di-  pretensions  of  the  other,  were  yet  alike  in 
nlonSTsts'1  many  of  the  features  of  their  social  life,  and 
andphiioso-       Were  scarcely  distinguished  from  each  other 

phers,  J  ° 

by  the  world. 
The  first  included  the  professional  moralists  and 
high  thinkers,  who  claim  to  have  a  rule  of  active  life 
or  a  theory  of  eternal  truth  which  might  be  of  infinite 
value  to  their  fellow-men.  Philosophy  had  somewhat 
changed  its  aims  and  methods  since  the  great  systems 
of  original  inquiry  had  parted  the  schools  of  Greece 
among  them.  The  old  names,  indeed,  of  Platonist  ana 
Peripatetic,  Epicurean  and  Stoic,  still  were  heard  ;  but 
the  boundary  lines  were  growing  fainter,  and  the  doc- 
trines of  each  were  losing  the  sharpness  of  their  former 
outlines.  Philosophy  had  lost  the  keenness  of  her  dia- 
lectic, the  vigour  and  boldness  of  her  abstract  reasoning; 
she  had  dropped  her  former  subtlety,  and  was  spending 
all  her  energy  of  thought  and  action  on  the  great  themes 
of  social  duty.  She  aspired,  and  not  quite  in  vain,  to  be 
the  great  moral  teacher  of  mankind.  She  stepped  into 
the  place  which  heathen  religion  long  had  left  unfilled. 


CH.  viii.      The  Literary  Currcn's  of  the  Age.  177 

and  claimed  to  be  the  directress  of  the  consciences  of 
men.  When  the  old  barriers  were  levelled  to  the 
ground ;  when  natural  law,  and  local  usages,,  and  tra 
ditional  standards  became  effaced  or  passed  away  before 
the  levelling  action  of  the  imperial  unity  ;  when  servile 
flattery  began  to  abdicate  the  claims  of  manhood,  and  to 
acknowledge  no  source  of  law  and  right  but  the  caprices 
of  an  absolute  monarch,  philosophy  alone  began  on 
sure  foundations  to  raise  the  lines  of  moral  order,  philo- 
sophy alone  was  heard  to  plead  in  the  name  of  dignity 
and  honour.  She  left  the  shadow  of  the  schools,  the 
quiet  groves  of  Academe,  the  Gardens,  and  the  Porch, 
and  came  out  into  the  press  and  throng  of  busy  life 
under  every  variety  of  social  guise.  She  furnished  her 
lecturers  of  renown,  holding  chairs  with  endowments 
from  the  state,  and  speaking  with  the  authority  of  men 
of  science.  She  had  her  spiritual  advisers  for  great 
houses,  living  like  domestic  chaplains  in  constant  at- 
tendance on  the  wealthy  and  well-born.  There  were 
father  confessors  for  the  ruler's  ear,  rivalling  in  influence 
the  ladies  of  the  imperial  household.  There  were  phy- 
sicians of  the  soul,  who  had  their  little  social  circles  of 
which  they  were  the  oracles,  guiding  the  actions  of  their 
friends,  sometimes  by  confidential  letters,  sometimes  by 
catechetical  addresses,  while  at  times  their  familiar  table 
talk  was  gathered  up  for  private  use  in  the  diaries  of 
admiring  pupils.  Missionaries  travelled  in  her  name 
from  town  to  town,  with  hardy  courage  and  unvarnished 
phrase,  like  the  Mendicant  Friars  of  later  days,  speak- 
ing to  the  people  mainly  in  the  people's  tongue,  and  de- 
nouncing the  lust  of  the  eye  and  the  pride  of  life  in  the 
spirit  of  Christian  ascetics. 

The  greatest  among  the  heathen  moralists  of  the  age 
was  Epictetus.     The  new  bought  slave,  for  that  is  the 


178  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vm 

meaning  of  the  only  name  by  which  history 
such  as  knows   him,  early  exchanged  his  Phrygian 

Epictetus,  ' 

home  for  the  mansion  of  a  Roman  master, 
who  seems  to  have  been  a  vulgar  soul,  cringing  to  the 
powerful  and  haughty  to  the  weak,  and  who  treated  him 
probably  with  little  kindness,  even  if  he  did  not,  as  one 
version  of  the  story  runs,  break  his  slave's  leg  in  a  freak 
of  wanton  jest.  Yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  his  master 
sent  the  lame  and  sickly  youth  to  hear  the  lessons  of 
the  most  famous  of  the  Stoic  teachers,  intending  him, 
perhaps,  for  literary  labour  because  he  was  too  weak  for 
other  work.  The  pupil  made  good  use  of  the  chances 
offered  him  ;  and  when  in  after  years  he  gained  his  free- 
dom, he  ruled  his  life  in  all  things  by  the  system  of  his 
choice,  proving  in  the  midst  of  his  patient,  brave,  and 
unobtrusive  poverty  how  fully  he  had  mastered  alJ  the 
doctrines  of  the  Porch.  No  cell  of  Christian  monk  was 
ruder  than  his  simple  bedroom,  of  which  the  only  fur- 
niture was  a  pallet  bed  and  iron  lamp,  and  when  the 
latter  was  taken  by  a  thief,  it  was  replaced  by  one  of  clay. 
Epictetus  wrote  no  works,  and  made  no  pretence  in 
public  as  a  sage;  but  he  talked  freely  to  his  friends,  and 
admirers  gathered  round  him  by  degrees  to  hear  his  racy 
earnest  sermons  on  one  moral  question  or  another,  and 
some  made  notes  of  what  he  said,  and  passed  them  on 
in  their  own  circles,  till  his  fame  at  last  spread  far  and 
wide  beyond  the  range  of  personal  acquaintance.  Arrian, 
his  devoted  friend,  has  left  us  two  such  summaries ;  one 
a  Manual  of  his  Rule  of  Life,  couched  in  brief  and 
weighty  words,  as  of  a  general  to  his  soldiers  under  fire  ; 
the  second,  a  sort  of  Table  Talk,  which,  flowing  on  with 
less  dogmatic  rigour,  found  tenderer  and  more  genial 
tones  to  speak  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  heard  him.  He 
eschewed  all  subtleties  of  metaphysics,  all  show  of  par- 


CH.  vin.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  179 

adox  or  literary  graces  ;  his  thoughts  are  entirely  trans- 
parent and  sincere,  expressed  in  the  homeliest  of  prose, 
though  varied  now  and  then  by  bursts  of  rude  eloquence 
and  vivid  figures  of  the  fancy.  In  them  the  whole  duty 
of  man,  according  to  the  Stoic  system,  is  put  forth  in  the 
strongest  and  most  consistent  form  ;  and  as  such,  they 
were  for  centuries  the  counsellors  and  guides  of  thou- 
sands of  self-centred  resolute  natures. 

To  bear  and  to  forbear  in  season,  to  have  a  noble  dis- 
regard for  all  the  passing  goods  of  fortune,  and  all  which 
we  cannot  ourselves  control ;  to  gain  an  absolute  mas- 
tery over  will  and  temper,  thought  and  feeling,  which 
are  wholly  in  our  power — to  make  Reason  sit  enthroned 
within  the  citadel  of  Self,  and  let  no  fitful  gusts  of  pas- 
sion, no  mere  brute  instincts  guide  our  action — these  in 
bare  outline  are  the  dogmas  of  a  creed  which  insists  as 
few  have  ever  done  upon  the  strength  and  dignity  of 
manhood.  True,  there  are  harsh  words  at  times,  full  of 
a  stern,  ascetic  rigour,  as  when  he  bids  men  not  to  grieve 
for  the  loss  of  friend,  or  wife,  or  child,  and  to  let  no 
foolish  pity  for  the  ills  of  any  whom  he  loves  cloud  the 
serenity  of  the  sage's  temper.  Rebuking  grief,  he  needs 
must  banish  love,  for  grief  itself  is  only  love  which  feels 
the  lack  of  what  is  torn  away,  and  without  sympathy  to 
stir  us  from  our  moods  of  lonely  selfishness  we  should 
be  merely  animals  of  finer  breed  and  subtler  brain. 

But  Epictetus  could  not  trample  out  all  feeling;  he 
rises  even  to  a  height  of  lyric  fervour  when  he  speaks  of 
the  providence  of  God,  of  the  moral  beauty  of  His  works, 
and  the  strange  insensibility  of  ungrateful  men.  Nor 
would  he  have  his  hearers  rest  content  with  the  selfish 
hope  of  saving  their  own  souls  ;  rather,  he  would  have 
them  ever  think  of  the  human  brotherhood,  and  live  not 
for  themselves  but  for  the  world.     He  falls  into  a  vein  of 


180  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vin. 

Christian  language  when  he  speaks  of  the  true  philoso- 
pher as  set  apart  by  a  special  call,  anointed  with  the 
unction  of  God's  grace  to  a  missionary  work  of  lifelong 
self-devotion,  as  the  apostle  of  a  high  social  creed.  Un- 
consciously, perhaps,  he  holds  up  the  mirror  to  himself 
in  this  description,  and  the  rich  colouring  and  impas- 
sioned fervour  of  the  chapter  redeem  the  austerity  of 
his  moral  system. 

The  substance  of  some  passages  may  serve  perhaps 
to  complete  the  brief  sketch  of  his  character  and  thought. 
When  asked  to  describe  the  nature  of  the 
ideal  Cynic,  he  said  that  heaven's  wrath 
would  light  on  him  who  intruded  rashly  into  a  ministry 
so  holy.  It  called  for  an  Agamemnon  to  lead  a  host  to 
Troy  ;  none  but  Achilles  could  face  Hector  in  the  fight  ; 
if  a  Thersites  had  presumed  to  take  that  place,  he  would 
have  been  thrust  away  in  mockery  or  disgrace.  So  let 
the  would-be  Cynic  try  himself,  and  count  the  cost  before 
he  starts  for  the  campaign.  To  wear  a  threadbare  cloak 
is  not  enough  :  something  more  is  needed  than  to  live 
hardly — to  carry  staff  and  wallet,  and  to  be  rude  and  un- 
mannerly to  all  whose  life  seems  too  luxurious  or  self- 
indulgent.  It  were  an  easy  matter  to  do  this.  But  to  keep 
a  patient,  uncomplaining  temper,  to  root  out  vain  desire 
and  rise  above  the  weakness  of  anger,  jealousy,  pity,  and 
every  carnal  appetite,  to  make  the  sense  of  honour  take 
the  place  of  all  the  screens  or  safeguards  of  door  and 
inner  chamber,  to  have  no  secrets  to  conceal,  no  shrink- 
ing fear  of  banishment  or  death,  in  the  confidence  of 
finding  everywhere  a  home  where  sun  and  moon  will 
shine,  and  communion  will  be  possible  with  heaven  — 
this  is  not  an  easy  thing,  but  to  be  able  to  do  this  is  to 
be  a  philosopher  indeed.  Thus  furnished  for  the  work 
of  life,  the  true  Cynic  will  feel  that  he  has  a  mission  to 


cri.  viii.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  181 

be  a  preacher  of  the  truth  to  erring  men  who  know  so 
little  of  what  is  really  good  or  evil.  He  is  sent  as  a  seer 
to  learn  the  path  of  safety,  and  as  a  prophet  to  warn  his 
fellow-men  of  all  their  dangers.  It  is  for  him  to  tell 
them  the  secret  of  true  happiness,  that  it  does  not  lie  in 
the  comfort  of  the  body,  nor  in  wealth,  nor  high  es- 
tate, nor  office,  nor  in  anything  which  lies  exposed  to 
the  caprice  of  chance,  but  only  in  the  things  which  fall 
within  the  range  of  man's  freewill,  in  his  own  domain  of 
thought  and  action. 

Men  ask  indeed  if  any  can  be  happy  without  the 
social  blessings  which  they  prize.  It  is  for  the  apostle 
of  philosophy  to  show  that,  homeless,  childless,  wifeless 
wanderer  though  he  be,  with  only  a  mantle  on  his  body 
and  the  sky  above  his  head,  he  can  yet  enjoy  entirest 
freedom  from  all  anxiety  and  fear,  and  from  all  the 
misery  of  a  fretful  temper.  But  let  no  one  rashly  fancy 
that  he  is  called  to  such  a  life  without  weighing  well  its 
duties  and  its  dangers.  Let  him  examine  himself  well, 
and  learn  the  will  of  God  whose  messenger  he  would 
claim  to  be.  Outraged  and  buffeted  he  may  be,  like  a 
poor  beast  of  burden  ;  but  he  must  love  his  persecutors 
as  his  brethren.  For  him  there  can  be  no  appeal  to 
Caesar  or  to  Caesar's  servants,  for  he  looks  only  to  his 
Sovereign  in  heaven,  and  must  bear  patiently  the  trials 
which  He  sends  him.  In  a  realm  of  perfect  sages  there 
would  be  no  call  into  the  mission-field,  and  all  might 
innocently  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  home  life  in  peace. 
But  that  soldier  serves  most  cheerfully  who  has  no  cares 
of  wife  or  household,  and  the  Cynic  who  has  felt  the  call 
to  do  God's  work  must  forswear  the  blessings  of  the  life 
of  husband  or  of  father,  must  rise  above  the  narrower 
range  of  civic  duties,  remembering  that  all  men  are  his 
brothers  and  his  city  is  the  world. 


1 82  The  Age  of the  Antonines,  ch.  vin. 

Yet  large  as  is  the  call  upon  his  self-denial,  he  should 
not  aim  at  needless  austerity  or  ascetic  gloom.  There  is 
no  sanctity  in  dirt  or  vermin,  nothing  to  win  souls  or  to 
attract  the  fancy  in  emaciated  looks  and  a  melancholy 
scowl ;  nor  is  there  any  reason  why  the  missionary  must 
be  a  beggar.  Epictetus  saw  no  merit  in  hardships  self- 
imposed,  nor  would  he  have  men  turn  from  pleasure  as 
from  a  traitor  offering  a  kiss  ;  only  he  would  have  them 
able  to  part  cheerfully  with  all  save  truth  and  honour,  in 
the  spirit  of  pilgrims  on  the  march.    "  As  on 

(c.  vii).  .  ..........  . 

a  journey,  when  the  ship  is  lying  at  anchor, 
thou  mavest  land  to  take  in  water,  and  gather  shells 
and  the  like  upon  the  shore,  but  must  keep  the  vessel 
still  in  view,  and  when  the  steersman  beckons,  must 
leave  all  else  at  once  to  come  on  board :  so,  too,  in  life's 
pilgrimage,  if  wifelet  or  little  one  be  given  thee  for  a 
while,  it  may  be  well,  but  to  see  to  it  that  thou  art  ready, 
when  the  pilot  calls,  to  go  at  once,  and  turn  not  to  look 
back." 

The  life  of  Dion  Chrysostom  may  serve  to  illustrate 
still  further  the  ideal  of  the  philosophic  propaganda  of 

,  _.  these  times.     He  was,  indeed,  no  Stoic  by 

and    Dion 

Chrysos-  profession,  and  did  not  use  heroic  tones  ; 

yet  like  the  sage  pictured  to  our  fancy  in 
the  strong  words  of  Epictetus,  he  felt  that  he  was  called 
to  spend  his  life  unselfishly  for  others,  and  to  preach  and 
plead  to  every  class  in  the  enthusiasm  of  a  religious 
duty.  He  only  gradually  awoke,  indeed,  to  the  sense  of 
his  vocation,  and  it  is  curious  to  read  his  own  account  of 
his  conversion  to  philosophy,  and  note  his  confessions 
of  unworthiness. 

Driven  by  a  popular  riot  from  his  home  at  Prusa,  in 
which  town  he  had  already  filled  the  highest  offices,  he 
betook  himself  to  Rome,  where  he   gained  a  name  by 


CH.  viii.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  183 

eloquence,  and  the  hatred  of  Domitian  by  outspoken 
satire.  He  fled  away  and  lived  a  wandering  life,  in  the 
course  of  which,  as  we  have  seen  already  (p.  6),  he 
appeased  a  mutiny  among  the  legions  when  the  news  of 
the  tyrant's  murder  reached  their  camp  upon  the  northern 
frontier.  During  those  years  of  banishment  he  hid  his 
name  but  could  not  hide  his  talents  ;  his  threadbare 
cloak  was  taken  for  a  Cynic's  mantle,  and  men  often 
came  to  him  to  ask  for  counsel.  His  quibbles  of  rhetoric 
availed  him  little  for  cases  of  conscience  such  as  these, 
and  he  was  driven  to  meditate  in  earnest  on  great  themes 
of  duty,  and  seek  for  truth  at  the  sources  of  a  higher 
wisdom.  With  light  so  gained  he  saw  the  vanity  of 
human  wishes,  he  felt  the  littleness  of  his  earlier  aims, 
and  resolved  to  devote  his  eloquence  to  a  higher  cause 
than  that  of  personal  ambition.  He  would  spend  himself 
for  the  needs  of  every  class  without  distinction,  and  tend 
the  anxious  or  despairing  as  the  physician  of  their  souls, 
regretting  only  that  so  few  care  for  serious  thought  in 
the  season  of  prosperity,  and  fly  to  the  sage  for  ghostly 
counsel  only  when  loss  of  friends  or  dear  ones  makes 
them  feel  the  need  of  consolation. 

The  details  of  his  life  and  character  are  known  to  us 
chiefly  by  his  works,  some  of  which  are  moral  essays, 
sermons,  as  it  were,  on  special  texts  which  might  be 
preached  to  any  audience  alike,  while  others  are  set 
speeches  made  in  public  as  occasion  called  him  forth  in 
many  a  far-off  city  where  he  sojourned  in  his  wandering 
career.  In  the  former  class  we  note  that  among  all  the 
commonplaces  of  the  schools,  high  thoughts  may  be  met 
with  here  and  there,  full  of  a  large  humanity,  and  with 
an  entirely  modern  sound.  In  a  world  whose  social 
system  rested  on  a  basis  of  slave  labour,  he  raised  his 
voice  not  merely  to  plead  for  kindliness  and  mercy,  but 


1 84  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viil 

to  dispute  the  moral  right  of  slavery  itself.  Feeling  deeply 
for  the  artisan  and  peasant,  whose  happiness  was  sacri- 
ficed, and  whose  social  status  was  degraded  by  the 
haughty  sentiment  of  Greece  and  Rome,  he  spoke  ii 
accents  seldom  heard  before  of  the  dignity  and  prospects 
of  industrial  labour.  His  account  of  the  shipwrecked 
traveller  in  Eubcea  gives  us  a  picture,  else  unequalled  in 
its  vividness,  of  the  breach  between  the  city  and  the 
country  life,  and  of  the  uncared-for  loneliness  of  much 
of  the  rural  population 

But  the  second  class  of  writings  best  reflects  the 
temper  and  activity  of  Dion's  efforts  to  bring  philosophy 
to  bear  upon  the  world.  They  show  him  as  the  advo- 
cate of  peace,  stepping  in  with  words  of  timely  wisdom 
to  allay  the  bitterness  of  long-standing  feuds,  or  the 
outbreak  of  fresh  jealousies  such  as  had  lingered  for 
centuries  among  the  little  states  of  the  ./Egean,  and  sur- 
vived even  the  tutelage  of  Roman  power.  At  one  time 
the  subject  of  dispute  is  the  scene  of  the  provincial  courts, 
at  another  the  proud  title  of  metropolis  of  Asia ;  at 
another  some  infinitely  petty  right  of  fisheries  or  of  pas- 
ture. Quarrels  such  as  these  brought  citizens  of  rival 
towns  into  collision  in  the  streets,  and  led  to  interchange 
of  passionate  complaints,  wearying  out  the  patience  of 
their  Roman  masters  by  the  vanity  and  turbulence  of 
these  Greek  republics.  All  Dion's  tact  and  all  his 
eloquence  were  needed  in  such  cases,  to  enforce  the 
eternal  principles  of  concord  and  forbearance  by  the 
dexterous  use  of  personal  appeals.  He  shows  his  sense 
of  the  importance  of  this  work  by  speaking  with  a  sort 
of  fervour  of  the  holy  functions  of  this  ministry  of  recon- 
ciliation. 

He  was  jealous  of  his  dignity  and  independence, 
stooping  to  truckle  neither  to  the  violence  of  mob-licence 


ch.  vni.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.         185 

nor  to  the  caprices  of  a  monarch.  He  startled  the  disso- 
lute populace  of  Alexandria  by  his  bold  defiance  of  their 
wanton  humour,  and  by  his  skilful  pleading  to  have  the 
claims  of  philosophy  respected.  He  bore  himself  with 
courteous  firmness  in  the  presence  of  the  Court,  and 
lectured  Trajan  on  the  duties  of  a  royal  station  without 
any  loss  of  honest  frankness  or  imperial  favour.  He 
preached  on  the  vanity  of  human  glory,  and  was  one 
day  to  prove  in  his  own  person  how  treacherous  and 
unsubstantial  a  thing  it  is.  The  cities  which  had  hon- 
ored him  as  their  teacher  and  their  friend  were  presently 
to  grow  weary  of  his  counsels,  and  to  show  him  the  in- 
dignity of  setting  another  head  upon  his  statues.  Prusa 
his  birthplace,  and  the  object  of  his  special  tenderness, 
was  to  turn  against  him  in  blind  fury,  and  to  denounce 
him  to  the  Roman  governor  as  a  traitor  and  a  thief. 

To  the  vicissitudes  of  the  career  of  Dion  we  may  find 
a  striking  contrast  in  the  unbroken  calm  of  Plutarch's 
life.     Descended  from  an  ancient  family  of 
the  Boeotian  Chseroneia,  after  drawing  from  '  ' 

the  sources  of  ancient  art  and  learning  at  their  fountain 
head  at  Athens,  he  betook  himself  in  riper  years  to 
Rome,  where,  besides  attending  to  the  duties  with  which 
he  seems  to  have  been  charged  in  the  service  of  his 
fellow-townsmen,  he  lectured  publicly  from  time  to  time, 
and  made  good  use  of  the  literary  stores  amassed  in  the 
great  libraries,  and  of  the  interchange  of  thought  in  the 
cultivated  circles  of  the  capital.  In  the  vigour  of  his 
intellectual  manhood  he  went  back  to  Chseroneia,  where 
he  lived  henceforth,  for  fear,  he  says,  that  the  little  town 
should  lose  in  him  a  single  citizen  ;  serving  with  hon- 
ourable zeal  in  the  whole  round  of  civil  and  religious 
offices,  and  winning  the  respect  of  all  his  neighbours  as 
well  as  of  many  correspondents  from  abroad. 


1 86  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vm. 

Full  of  the  generous  patriotism  of  the  best  days  of 
Greece,  he  gave  his  time  and  thought  without  reserve 
to  the  service  of  his  countrymen,  though  he  allowed  no 
glamour  of  ancient  sentiment  to  cloud  his  judgment. 
He  told  the  young  aspirants  round  him  that,  when  they 
read  the  harangues  of  Pericles  and  the  story  of  their  old 
republics,  they  must  be  careful  to  remember  that  those 
times  were  gone  for  ever,  and  that  they  must  speak  with 
bated  breath  in  their  assemblies,  since  the  power  had 
passed  into  the  hands  of  an  imperial  governor.  It  was 
idle  to  be  like  the  children  at  their  play,  who  dress  them- 
selves as  grown-up  folks,  and  put  on  their  fathers'  robes 
of  state.  And  yet  the  worthy  citizen,  he  says,  has  no  lack 
of  opportunities  for  action.  To  keep  open  house,  and  so 
to  be  a  harbour  of  refuge  for  the  wanderers,  to  sympa- 
thise with  joy  and  grief,  to  be  careful  not  to  wound 
men's  feelings  by  the  wantonness  of  personal  display ; 
to  give  counsel  freely  to  the  unwary,  to  bring  parted 
friends  once  more  together,  to  encourage  the  efforts  of 
the  good  and  frustrate  the  villany  of  designing  knaves, 
to  study,  in  a  word,  the  common  weal,  these  are  the 
duties  which  a  citizen  can  discharge  until  his  dying  day, 
whether  clothed  or  not  with  offices  of  state. 

For  Plutarch  did  not  write  merely  as  a  literary  artist 
to  amuse  a  studious  leisure  or  revive  the  memory  of 
heroic  days,  but  as  a  moralist  invested  by  public  con- 
fidence with  a  sort  of  priesthood  to  direct  the  con- 
sciences of  men.  He  had,  indeed,  no  new  theory  of 
morals  to  maintain,  and  made  no  pretension  to  original 
research ;  he  wished  not  to  dazzle  but  to  edify,  to  touch 
the  heart  and  guide  the  conduct  rather  than  instruct 
the  reason.  His  friends  or  neighbours  come  to  him  for 
counsel  on  one  or  other  of  life's  trials,  and  he  sends 
them  willingly  the  fruit  of  his  study  or  reflection.     He 


CH.  vni.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  1S7 

holds  his  conferences  like  a  master  of  the  schools,  and 
the  privileged  guests  flock  willingly  to  hear  the  sermons 
of  which  the  subject  has  already  been  announced,  and 
listen  with  becoming  gravity  to  the  exhortations  of  the 
sage.  Sometimes  they  are  invited  to  propose  a  question 
for  debate  ;  but  nothing  frivolous  can  be  allowed,  nor 
may  any  of  the  audience  betray  an  unseemly  lack  of  in- 
terest, "  like  the  bidden  guest  who  scarcely  touches 
with  his  lips  the  viands  which  his  host  has  spread  before 
him."  The  listener's  mind  must  be  ever  on  the  alert, 
"  as  the  tennis  player  watches  for  the  ball,"  and  he 
never  should  forget  that  he  is  sitting,  not  like  a  lounger 
at  the  theatre,  but  in  a  school  of  morals  where  he  may 
learn  to  regulate  his  life.  The  lecture  ended,  or  the 
public  conference  closed,  the  privileged  few  remain  to 
discuss  the  subject  further  with  their  master,  while  here 
or  there  a  stricken  conscience  stays  behind  to  confess 
its  secret  grief  and  ask  for  ghostly  admonition.  But  the 
teacher's  doors  are  ever  open  ;  all  may  freely  come  and 
go  who  need  encouragement  or  advice  on  any  point  of 
social  duty.  Out  of  such  familiar  intercourse,  and  the 
cases  of  conscience  thus  debated,  grew  the  treatises  of 
ethics  which,  read  at  Rome  and  Athens  as  well  as  in  the 
little  town  of  Chaeroneia,  extended  to  the  world  of  letters 
the  fruits  of  his  ministry  of  morals. 

He  did  not  always  wait  to  be  applied  to,  but  sought 
out  at  times  the  intimates  who  seemed  to  need  his  coun- 
sels, watched  their  conduct  with  affectionate  concern, 
and  pressed  in  with  warning  words  amid  the  business  of 
common  life.  He  tried  to  recommend  philosophy  not 
by  precept  only  but  by  practice,  first  testing  on  himself 
the  value  of  his  spiritual  drugs,  and  working  with  hu- 
mility for  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  "  It  was  for  the  good 
of  others,"  he  tells  us,  "that  I  first  began  to  write  the 


1 88  The  Age  of  the  Anto)iines.  ck.  viii. 

biographies  of  famous  men,  but  I  have  since  taken  to 
them  for  my  own  sake.  Their  story  is  to  me  a  mirror, 
by  the  help  of  which  I  do  my  best  to  rule  my  life  after  the 
likeness  of  their  virtues.  I  seem  to  enter  into  living  com- 
munion with  them ;  while  bidding  them  welcome  one  by 
one.  under  the  shelter  of  my  roof,  I  contemplate  the 
beauty  and  the  grandeur  of  the  souls  unbared  before  me 
in  their  actions." 

Yet  it  was  not  without  other  reasons  that  he  lingered 
over  these  old  passages  of  history  and  romance.  For,  in- 
deed, with  all  his  width  of  sympathy  and  his  large  hu- 
manity, the  mind  of  Plutarch  was  cast  in  an  antique 
mould.  At  home  mainly  in  the  world  of  books  or  in  the 
social  moods  of  a  petty  town  of  Greece,  he  knew  little  of 
the  new  ideas  which  were  then  leavening  the  masses. 
The  Christian  church,  meantime,  was  setting  the  hearts 
of  men  aadow  with  the  storv  of  a  noble  life  which  could 
find  no  sort  of  parallel  in  his  long  list  of  ancient  wor- 
thies. Dion  Chrysostom  had  dared  to  call  the  right  ot 
slavery  in  question,  and  spoke  as  feelingly  as  any  modern 
writer  of  the  sorrows  of  the  proletariate  and  the  dignity 
of  labour.  Marcus  Aurehus  was  soon  to  show  what  deli- 
cate humilitv  and  unselfish  <rrace  could  blossom  in  the 
midst  of  heathendom,  while  straining  after  visions  of 
perfection  not  to  be  realized  in  scenes  of  earth.  But 
Plutarch's  thought  in  religion  and  in  morals  seems 
scarcely  to  have  passed  bevond  the  stage  of  human  pro- 
gress reached  long  ago  in  Plato's  days,  and  five  cen- 
turies had  passed  away  and  taught  him  no  new  principle 
of  duty. 

He  believed  in  the  unitv  of  God,  and  saw  the  vanity 
of  idol  worship;  but  to  him  the  essence  of  religion  lay 
not  in  dogmas  or  rules  of  life  but  in  solemn  ritual.  He 
clung  to  the  edifying  round  of  holy  forms,  though  the 


CH.  viii.      The  Literary  Currefifs  of  the  Age.         189 

faith  to  which  they  ministered  of  old  was  swept  away, 
and  though  he  had  to  people  the  unseen  world  with  inter- 
mediate spirits,  and  freely  resort  to  allegoric  fancy,  to 
justify  the  whole  mythology  of  Greek  religion. 

In  morals  his  ideal  is  confined  to  the  culture  and 
perfection  of  the  personal  aspirant  ;  and  amiable  and 
chastened  as  are  his  tones  of  courtesy,  his  talk  is  still  of 
happiness  rather  than  of  duty,  and  his  spiritual  horizon 
is  too  narrow  to  take  in  the  thought  of  the  loathsomeness 
of  evil  and  the  enthusiasm  of  charity.  His  calm  serenity 
reminds  us  of  the  temples  of  old  Greece,  which  attain  in 
all  that  is  attempted  to  a  simple  grace  and  a  consum- 
mate art,  with  none  of  the  gloom  and  mystery  of  a 
Christian  cathedral,  and  with  little  of  its  witness  to  a 
higher  world  and  its  vision  of  unfulfilled  ideals. 

But  most  of  the  scholars  of  the  day  made  no  preten- 
sions to  such  earnest  thought,  and  shrunk  from  philoso- 
phy as  from  a  churlish  Mentor  who  spoke  a 

O     Tl 

language  harsh  and  discordant  in  their  ears,    fi^ary 
These   were    literary  artists,  word-fanciers,    artlsts.and 

*  rhetoricians 

and   rhetoricians,  whose  fluent  speech  and 
studied  eraces   won   for  them  oftentimes   a  world-wide 
fame,  and  raised  them  to  wealth  or  dignity,  but  did  not 
add  a  single  thought  to  the  intellectual  capital  of  their 
ao-e   and  left  behind  no  monument  of  lasting  value. 

They  studied  the  orators  of  earlier  days  to  learn  the 
secrets  of  their  power  ;  but  the  times  were  changed  since 
the  party-strife  of  the  republican  assemblies  had  stirred 
into  insanity  the  stateman's  genius  and  passion.  The 
pleadings  even  of  the  law  courts  were  somewhat  cold 
and  lifeless  when  all  the  graver  cases  were  sent  up  by- 
appeal  before  the  Emperor  or  his  servants.  They  tried, 
indeed,  to  throw  themselves  back  into  the  past,  to  re- 
open the  debates  of  history,  and  galvanize  into  spasmodic 


iqo  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  CH.  vm. 

life  the  rigid  skeletons  of  ancient  quarrels.  When  men 
grew  weary  of  these  worn-out  topics,  the  lecturers  had 
recourse  to  paradox  to  quicken  afresh  the  jaded  fancy, 
startling  the  curiosity  by  some  unlooked-for  theme, 
writin°-  panegyrics  on  Fever  and  Baldness,  Dust  and 
Smoke,  the  Fly  even  and  the  Gnat,  or  imagining  almost 
impossible  conjunctures  to  test  their  skill  in  casuistry  or 
their  fence  of  subtle  dialectic.  To  others  the  subject  mat- 
tered little.  Like  the  Isaeus  of  whom  Pliny  writes  admir- 
ingly, or  the  improvisaiorioiz.  later  age,  they  left  the  choice 
to  the  audience  who  came  to  hear  them,  and  cared 
only  to  display  the  stock  of  images  with  which  their 
memory  was  furnished,  their  power  of  graceful  elocution 
in  which  every  tone  or  gesture  had  artistic  value,  or 
their  unfailing  skill  in   handling  all  the  arms  of  logical 

debate. 

Sometimes  it  was  a  question  merely  of  the  choice  of 
words.  The  Greeks  commonly  were  faithful  to  the  purer 
models  of  good  style;  but  the  Roman  taste,  not  content 
with  the  excellence  of  Cicero  as  approved  by  Ouin- 
tilian's  practised  judgment,  mounted  higher  for  its 
standards  of  Latinity,  and  prided  itself  on  its  familiar 
use  of  archaic  words  or  phrases  gleaned  from  Cato  or 
from  Ennius.  The  harmonious  arrangement  of  these 
borrowed  graces  was  in  itself  a  proof  of  eloquence,  and 
poverty  of  thought  and  frigid  feeling  mattered  little,  if 
the  stock  of  such  literary  conceits  was  large  enough. 

Fronto  of  Cirta  passed  for  the  first  orator  of  his  day  at 
Rome,  and  was  honoured  with  the  friendship  of  three 
Emperors,  of  whom  the  latest,  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,  had  been  his  pupil,  and  was  to  the  last  a 
loving  friend.  When  scholars  heard  early  in  this  cen- 
tury that  the  letters  which  passed  between  the  sovereign 
and  the  professor  had  been  found  in  a  palimpsest  under 


CH.  vin.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  191 

the  Acts  of  the  Council  of  Chalcedon,  they  were  full  of 
eager  interest  to  read  them  ;  but  they  soon  turned  with 
contempt  from  the  tasteless  pedantry  and  tawdry  affec- 
tation of  the  style  which  was  then  so  much  in  vogue  at 
Rome.  It  is  curious  to  find  the  rhetorician  speaking  of 
his  favourite  art  as  the  only  serious  study  of  the  age. 
"  For  philosophy,"  he  thought,  "  no  style  was  needed  ;  no 
laboured  periods,  nor  touching  peroration.  The  student's 
intellect  was  scarcely  ruffled  while  the  lecturer  went 
droning  on  in  the  dull  level  of  his  tedious  disquisitions. 
Lazy  assent  or  a  few  lifeless  words  alone  were  needed, 
and  the  audience  might  be  even  half-asleep  while  the 
*  firstly'  and  'secondly'  were  leisurely  set  forth,  and 
truisms  disguised  in  learned  phrases.  That  done,  the 
learner's  work  was  over  :  no  conning  over  tasks  by 
night,  no  reciting  or  declaiming,  no  careful  study  of  the 
power  of  synonyms  or  the  methods  of  translation."  He 
thought  it  mere  presumption  of  philosophy  to  claim  the 
sphere  of  morals  for  its  special  care.  The  domain  of 
rhetoric  was  wide  enough  to  cover  that  as  well  as 
many  another  field  of  thought  ;  her  mission  was  to 
touch  the  feelings  and  to  guide  men  by  persuasive 
speech.  For  words  were  something  infinitely  sacred, 
too  precious  to  be  trifled  with  by  any  bungler  in  the  art 
of  speaking.  As  for  the  thoughts,  they  were  not  likely 
to  be  wanting  if  only  the  terms  of  oratory  were  fitly 
chosen.  Yet,  with  all  the  pedant's  vanity,  we  see  dis- 
closed to  us  in  his  familiar  letters  an  honest,  true,  and 
simple-minded  man,  who  was  jealous  for  the  honour  of 
his  literary  craft,  who  lived  contentedly  on  scanty  means, 
and  never  abused  his  influence  at  court  to  advance 
himself  to  wealth  or  honour. 

Few,  like  Fronto,  were  content  to  shine  only  with  the 
lustre  of  their  art.     To  live  a  Sophist's  life  was  a  pro- 


192  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii. 

verbial  phrase  for  a  career  of  sumptuous  luxury.  To 
turn  from  rhetoric  to  philosophy  was  marked  by  outward 
changes  like  that  to  the  monk's  cowl  from  the  pleasures 
of  the  world.  But  it  was  in  the  Greek  cities  of  the 
Empire  that  they  paraded  their  magnificence  with  most 
assurance,  and  ruled  supreme  over  an  admiring  public. 
Among  the  brilliant  towns  of  Asia  Minor,  which  were  at 
this  time  at  the  climax  of  their  wealth  and  splendour, 
there  flourished  an  art  and  literature  of  fashion,  to  which 
the  Sophists  gave  the  tone  as  authors  and  critics. 

At  Smyrna  above  all,  the  sanctuary  of  the  Muses  and 
the  metropolis  of  Asia,  as  it  proudly  styled  itself,  the 
famous  Polemon  lorded  it  without  dispute, 
deigning  to  prefer  that  city  for  his  home 
above  the  neighbouring  rivals  for  his  favour.  When  he 
went  abroad,  the  chariot  which  bore  him  was  decked 
with  silver  trappings  and  followed  by  a  long  train  of 
slaves  and  hounds.  So  proud  was  his  self-confidence 
that  he  was  said  to  treat  the  municipalities  as  his  infe- 
riors, and  emperors  and  gods  only  as  his  equals. 
Smyrna,  the  city  of  his  choice,  profited  largely  by  the 
reputation  of  its  townsman.  Scholars  flocked  to  it  to 
hear  his  lectures.  Jarring  factions  were  abashed  at  his 
rebuke,  and  forgot, their  quarrels  in  his  eulogies  of  peace. 
Monarchs  honoured  him  with  their  favours,  and  lavished 
their  bounty  on  his  home  :  Hadrian  even  transferred  his 
love  from  Ephesus  to  Smyrna,  and  gave  the  orator  a 
noble  sum  to  beautify  the  queen  of  cities.  His  self- 
esteem  was  fully  equal  to  his  great  renown.  When  he 
went  to  Athens,  unlike  the  other  speakers  who  began 
with  panegyrics  on  the  illustrious  city,  he  startled  his 
hearers  with  the  words,  "You  have  the  credit,  men  of 
Athens,  of  being  accomplished  critics  of  good  style ;  I 
shall  soon  see  if  you   deserve  the  praise."     A  young 


CH.  vin.      The  Literary  Current*  of  the  Age.  193 

aspirant  of  distinction  came  once  to  measure  words  with 
him,  and  asked  him  to  name  a  time  for  showing  off  his 
powers.  Nothing  loth,  he  offered  to  speak  off-hand,  and 
after  hearing  him,  the  stranger  slipped  away  by  night  to 
shun  the  confession  of  defeat.  When  Hadrian  came  to 
dedicate  the  stately  works  with  which  he  had  embellished 
Athens,  the  ceremony  was  not  thought  complete  unless 
Polemon  was  sent  for  to  deliver  a  sort  of  public  sermon 
on  the  opening  of  the  temple.  When  death  came  at  last 
to  carry  him  from  the  scene  of  all  his  triumphs,  he  said 
to  the  admirers  who  stood  beside  his  bed,  "  See  that  my 
tomb  is  firmly  closed  upon  me,  that  the  sun  may  not 
see  me  at  last  reduced  to  silence." 

Ephesub,  meantime,  which  took  the  second  place 
among  the  cities  of  Ionia,  had  brought  Favorinus  from 
his  native  Aries  to  honour  it  with  his  brilliant 

_  .  ,  r    *  r  Favorinus. 

talents.  But  neither  of  the  great  professors 
could  brook  a  rival  near  his  chair,  and  a  war  of  epigrams 
and  anerv  words  was  carried  on  between  them,  and  was 
taken  up  with  warmth  by  the  partisans  of  each.  At 
Pergamos,  Aristocles  was  teaching  still,  after  giving  up 
philosophy  and  scandalizing  serious  minds  by  taking  to 
the  theatre  and  other  haunts  of  pleasure.  Each  even  of 
the  lesser  towns  had  its  own  school  of  rhetoric,  and  its 
own  distinguished  Sophist. 

Nor   could   the    intellectual  society  of  Athens  fail  to 
have  its  shining  light   in  all  this  galaxy  of  luminous  ta- 
lents.    It   had    its  University,  with    chairs    endowed  by 
government,  and  filled  with  teachers  of  distinction.     But 
it   had  also    a   greater  centre   of  attraction   in   its    own 
Herodes  Atticus,  who  devoted  his  enormous 
wealth,  his  stores  of  learning  and  his  culti-         a«IcusS 
vated  tastes,  to  do  honour  to  his  birthplace, 
and  make  her  literary  circles  the  admiration  of  the  edu* 


jq4  The  Age  of  the  Antontnes.  ch.  viii. 

rated  world.  His  father,  who  came  of  an  old  family  at 
Athens,  had  found  a  treasure  in  his  house  so  great  that 
he  feared  to  claim  it  till  he  was  reassured  by  Nerva.  He 
used  it  with  lavish  generosity,  frequently  keeping  open 
house  ;  and  at  his  death  nearly  all  the  town  was  in  his 
debt.  No  expense  was  spared  in  the  education  of  his 
son,  who  studied  under  the  first  teachers  of  the  day,  and 
made  such  progress  that  he  was  taken  to  Pannonia  as  a 
youth  to  display  his  powers  of  rhetoric  before  the 
Emperor  Hadrian.  The  young  student's  vanity  was 
damped,  however,  by  a  signal  failure,  and  he  nearly 
drowned  himself  in  the  Danube  in  despair.  Returning 
home  in  humbler  mood,  he  gave  himself  once  more  to 
study.  There  and  in  Asia,  where  he  served  as  an  im- 
perial commissioner,  he  amassed  ample  stores  of  learn- 
ing and  formed  his  style  by  intercourse  with  the  greatest 
scholars  of  the  day.  After  some  years  spent  at  Rome, 
he  settled  finally  on  his  own  estates,  and  became  hence- 
forth the  central  figure  of  Athenian  society,  which  was 
by  general  consent  the  most  refined  and  cultivated  of 
the  age,  and  the  most  free  from  the  insolent  parade  of 
wealth. 

The  most  promising  of  the  students  of  the  University 
were  soon  attracted  to  his  side,  where  they  found  a 
liberal  welcome  and  unfailing  encouragement  and  help. 
Aulus  Gellius  gives  a  pleasant  picture  of  the  studious 
retreat  in  which  he  entertained  them.  "  In  our  college 
life  at  Athens,  Herodes  Atticus  often  bade  us  come  to 
him  In  his  country  house  of  XZephissia  we  were  shel- 
tered from  the  burning  heat  of  summer  by  the  shade  o! 
the  vast  groves,  and  the  pleasant  walks  about  the  man- 
sion, whose  cool  site  and  sparkling  basins  made  the 
whole  neighbourhood  resound  with  splashing  waters  and 
the  song;  of  birds."     Here  at  onetime  or  another  came 


CH.  vin.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  195 

most  of  the  scholars  who  were  to  make  a  name  in  the 
great  world,  and  who  were  glad  to  listen  to  the  famous 
lecturer.  A  privileged  few  remained  after  the  audience 
had  dispersed,  and  were  favoured  with  a  course  of  spe- 
cial comments  which  were  heard  with  rapt  attention 
Even  the  applause  so  usual  in  the  Sophists'  lecture  halls 
was  then  suspended 

But  if  an  orator  of  any  eminence  arrived  at  Athens 
and  wished  to  say  a  word  in  public,  Herodes  came 
with  his  friends  to  do  the  honours  of  the  day,  to  move 
the  vote  of  thanks  to  the  illustrious  stranger,  and 
to  display  all  his  practised  skill  in  the  tournament  of 
rhetoric.  Not  indeed  that  the  reception  was  so  courteous 
always.  One  Philager  had  the  imprudence  to  write  an 
offensive  letter  to  Herodes  before  he  came  to  Athens. 
On  his  arrival  the  theatre  in  which  he  had  intended  to 
declaim  was  crowded  with  the  admirers  of  the  Athenian 
teacher,  who  had  malicious  pleasure  in  detecting  an  old 
harangue  which  was  passed  off  before  them  as  a  new 
one,  and  hissed  the  poor  Sophist  off  the  stage  when  he 
tried  vainly  to  recover  credit.  Nor  did  the  talents  of  the 
orator  save  him  always  from  a  petty  vanity.  Aristides 
wished  on  one  occasion  to  deliver  the  Panathenaic 
speech ;  and  to  disarm  the  opposition  of  his  rival,  whose 
jealousy  he  feared,  he  submitted  to  his  criticism  the  draft 
of  a  weak  and  colourless  address.  But  instead  of  this, 
when  the  day  came  to  deliver  it,  the  actual  speech 
proved  to  be  of  far  higher  merit,  and  Herodes  saw  that 
he  was  duped. 

One  special  object  of  his  care  was  purity  of  diction. 
Not  content  with  forming  his  style  upon  the  best  models 
of  the  past,  he  was  known  even  to  consult  upon  nice 
points  of  language  an  old  hermit  who  lived  retired  in  the 
heart  of  Attica.     "  He  lives  in  the  district,"  was  his  ex- 


196      •  The  Age  of  the  An  to  nines,  ch.  viii. 

planation,  "  where  the  purest  Attic  always  has  been 
spoken,  and  where  the  old  race  has  not  been  swept 
away  by  strangers."  We  may  find  a  curious  illustration 
of  his  affectation  of  archaic  forms  in  the  fact  that  some  of 
the  inscriptions  of  his  monuments  are  written  in  Greek 
characters  of  a  much  earlier  date,  which  seemingly  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  antiquarian  he  was  desirous  to 
revive. 

A  like  spirit  of  reverence  for  the  past  is  shown  in  his 
regard  for  the  great  religious  centres  of  Hellenic  life. 
Not  content  with  adorning  Athens,  like  Hadrian,  with 
stately  works  of  art,  he  left  the  tokens  of  his  fond  respect 
at  Delphi,  Corinth,  and  Olympia,  where  new  temples  and 
theatres  rose  at  his  expense.  There  were  few  parts  of 
Greece,  indeed,  which  had  not  cause  to  thank  the  magni- 
ficent patron  of  the  arts,  whose  taste  inclined,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  day,  to  the  colossal,  and  was  turned  only 
with  regret  from  the  idea  of  cutting  a  canal  through  the 
.Corinthian  Isthmus. 

In  spite  of  all  his  glory  and  his  lavish  outlay,  the 
Athenians  wearied  of  their  benefactor,  or  powerful 
enemies  at  least  combined  to  crush  him.  Impeached 
before  the  governor  of  the  province  on  charges  of  oppres- 
sion, he  was  sent  to  Sirmium  when  Marcus  Aurelius 
was  busy  with  his  Marcomannic  war.  Faustina  had  been 
prejudiced  against  him,  the  Emperor's  little  son  was 
taught  to  lisp  a  prayer  for  the  Athenians,  and  the  great 
orator,  broken  down  by  bereavement  and  ingratitude, 
refused  to  exert  his  eloquence  in  his  own  behalf,  and 
broke  out  even  into  bitter  words  as  he  abruptly  left  his 
sovereign's  presence.  But  no  charges  could  be  proved 
against  him,  and  the  Emperor  was  not  a  man  to  deal 
harshly  with  his  old  friend  for  a  hasty  word. 

Among  the  visitors  atCephissia,  in  the  circle  gathered 


en.  viii.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  197 

round  Herodes,  probably  was  Apuleius,  who  had  left 
Carthage  to  carry  on  his  studies  in  the  lecture 

....  t^i  -1  1  Apuleius. 

rooms  and  libraries  of  Athens.  Philosopher 
and  pietist,  poet,  romanticist,  and  rhetorician,  he  was  an 
apt  example  of  the  manysidedness  of  the  sophistic  train- 
ing,  as  it  was  then  spread  universally  throughout  the 
Roman  Empire.  He  is  a  curious  illustration  of  the 
social  characteristics  of  the  age,  combining  as  he  does 
in  his  own  person,  and  expressing  in  his  varied  works, 
most  of  the  moral  and  religious  tendencies  which  are 
singly  found  elsewhere  in  other  writers  of  these  times. 

i°.  There  is  no  originality  of  thought  or  style.  Inevery 
work  we  trace  the  influence  of  Greek  models.  His  cele- 
brated novel  of  the  Transformation  of  a  Man  into  an 
Ass  is  based  upon  a  tale  which  is  also  found  in  Lucian  ; 
the  stirring  incidents  of  comedy  or  tragic  pathos  which 
are  so  strangely  interspersed,  the  description  of  the  rob- 
ber band,  the  thrilling  horrors  of  the  magic  art,  the  licen- 
tious gallantries  therein  described,  are  freely  taken  from 
the  Greek  romances  which  he  found  ready  to  his  hand 
in  many  of  the  countries  where  he  travelled.  Even  the 
beautiful  legend  of  Cupid  and  of  Psyche,  which  lies  em- 
bedded like  a  pure  vein  of  gold  in  the  coarser  strata  of 
his  fiction,  is  an  allegoric  fancy  which  belongs  to  a  purer 
and  a  nobler  mind  than  his.  The  style  indeed  is  more 
attractive  than  that  of  any  of  the  few  Latin  writers  of  his 
age,  for  Apuleius  had  a  poet's  fancy,  and  could  pass  with 
ease  from  grave  to  gay;  but  the  author  is  overweighted 
by  his  learning,  and  spoils  the  merit  of  his  diction  by 
ill-adapted  archaisms  and  tawdry  ornaments  of  preten- 
tious rhetoric. 

20.  In  him,  as  in  the  literature  of  the  times,  there  is 
none  of  the  natural  simplicity  of  perfect  art,  but  a  con- 
stant striving  for  effect  and  a  parade  of  ingenuity,  as  \i 


198  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii. 

to  challenge  the  applause  of  lecture-rooms  in  a  society 
of  mutual  admiration.  One  of  his  works  consists  of  the 
choice  passages,  the  lively  openings  or  touching  perora- 
tions, gleaned  from  a  number  of  such  public  lectures,  to 
serve,  it  may  be,  as  a  sort  of  commonplace-book  for  the 
beginner's  use. 

30.  As  a  religious  philosopher  he  illustrates  the  eclectic 
spirit  then  so  common.  From  the  theories  of  Plato  he 
accepted  the  faith  in  a  Supreme  Being  and  an  immortal 
soul ;  but  instead  of  the  types  or  ideas  of  the  Greek 
sage,  the  unseen  world  was  peopled  by  the  fancy  of 
Apuleius  with  an  infinite  hierarchy  of  demon  agencies, 
going  to  and  fro  among  the  ways  of  men,  startling  them 
with  phantom  shapes,  bat  making  themselves  at  times 
the  ministers  of  human  will  under  the  influence  of  magic 
arts  and  incantations. 

40.  We  find  in  him  a  curious  blending  of  mocking 
insight  and  of  mystic  dread.  He  vividly  expresses  in 
the  pages  of  his  novel  the  imposture  and  the  licence  of 
the  priestly  charlatans  who  travelled  through  the  world 
making  capital  out  of  the  timorous  credulity  of  the 
devout.  Yet  except  Aristides  no  educated  mind  that 
we  read  of  in  that  age  was.  more  intensely  mastered  by 
superstitious  hopes  and  fears.  The  mysteries  of  all  the 
ancient  creeds  have  a  powerful  attraction  for  his  fancy  ; 
he  is  eager  to  be  admitted  to  the  holy  rites,  and  to  pass 
within  the  veil  which  hides  the  secrets  from  the  eyes  of 
the  profane.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  fervour  of  his  en- 
thusiastic sentiment  when  he  speaks  of  the  revelation  of 
the  spirit  world  disclosed  in  the  sacred  forms  before  his 
kindling  fancy. 

50.  Finally,  in  his  case  we  have  brought  vividly  before 
our  minds  the  difference  between  devotion  and  morality. 
The  sensuality  of  heathendom  is  reflected  for  our  study  in 


ch.  VIII.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age,  199 

many  a  lascivious  and  disgusting  page  of  Apuleius;  and 
though  he  speaks  of  the  chastity  and  self-denial  needed 
for  the  pious  votary  to  draw  near  to  the  God  whom  he 
adores,  yet  the  abstinence  must  have  been  perfunctory 
indeed  in  one  whose  fancy  could  at  times  run  riot  in 
images  so  foul  and  lewd  as  to  revolt  every  pure-minded 
reader. 

We  have  seen  that  the  scholars  of  the  times  were 
almost  wholly  living  on  the  intellectual  capital  of  former 
ages  ;  in  rhetoric  and  history,  in  religion  and  philosophy, 
they  were  looking  to  the  past  for  guidance,  and  renew- 
ing the  old  jealousies  of  rival  studies.  In  the  credulous 
and  manysided  mind  of  Apuleius  all  the  literary  currents 
flowed  on  peacefully  together  side  by  side ;  but  in 
Lucian  we  may  note  the  culture  of  the  age  breaking  all 
the  idols  of  its  adoration  and  losing  every  trace  of  faith 
and  earnestness  and  self-respect. 

The  great  satirist  of  Samosata  was  a  Syrian  by  birth, 
though   his  genius    and    language  were    purely  Greek. 
Apprenticed  early  to  a  sculptor,  he  soon  laid  down  the 
carver's  tools   to  devote  himself  to  letters, 
and    making   little    progress    at   the  bar  of  ucian. 

Antioch,  took  to  the  Sophist's  wandering  life,  and,  like 
the  others  of  his  trade,  courted  the  applause  of  idle 
crowds  by  formal  panegyrics  on  the  Parrot  or  the  Fly. 
In  middle  life  he  grew  wearied  of  such  frivolous  pursuits, 
and  finding  another  literary  vein  more  suited  to  his 
talents,  composed  the  many  dialogues  and  essays  in 
which  all  the  forms  of  thought  and  faith  and  social 
fashion  pass  before  us  in  a  long  procession,  each  in  turn 
to  be  stripped  of  its  show  of  dignity  and  grace. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  expose  the  follies  of  the 
legendary  tales  of  early  Greece,  and  many  a  writer  had 
already  tried   to  show  that  such  artless  imaginings    ot 


200  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii, 

childlike  fancy  were  hopelessly  at  war  with  all  moral 
codes  and  earnest  thought.  But  it  was  left  for  Lucian 
to  deal  with  them  in  a  tone  of  entire  indifference,  with- 
out a  trace  of  passion  or  excitement,  or  spirit  of  avowed 
attack.  The  gods  and  goddesses  of  oJd  Olympus  come 
forward  in  his  dialogues  without  the  flowing  draperies  of 
poetic  forms  which  half  disguised  the  unloveliness  of 
many  a  fancy  ;  they  talk  to  each  other  of  their  vanities 
and  passions  simply  and  frankly,  without  reserve  or 
shame,  till  the  creations  of  a  nation's  childhood,  brought 
down  from  the  realms  of  fairyland  to  the  realities  of 
common  life,  seem  utterly  revolting  in  the  nudities  of 
homely  prose. 

Nor  had  Lucian  more  respect  for  the  motley  forms  of 
eastern  worship  to  which  the  public  mind  had  lately 
turned  in  its  strong  need  of  something  to  adore.  He 
painted  in  his  works  the  moods  of  credulous  sentiment 
which  sought  for  new  sources  of  spiritual  comfort  in  the 
glow  and  mystery  and  excitement  of  those  exotic  rites  ; 
he  described  in  lively  terms  the  consternation  of  the 
deities  of  Greece  when  they  found  their  council  chamber 
thronged  by  the  grotesque  brotherhood  of  unfamiliar 
shapes,  finding  a  voice  at  last  in  the  protests  of 
Momus,  who  came  forward  to  resist  their  claims  to  equal- 
ity with  the  immortals  of  Olympus.  "Attis  and  Corybas 
and  Sabazius,  and  the  Median  Mithras,  who  does  not 
know  a  word  of  Greek  and  can  make  no  answer  when 
his  health  is  drunk,  these  are  bad  enough;  still  they 
could  be  endured  ;  but  that  Egyptian  there,  swathed 
like  a  mummy,  with  a  dog's  head  on  his  shoulders,  what 
claim  has  he,  when  he  barks,  to  be  listened  to  as  a  god  ? 
What  means  yon  dappled  bull  of  Memphis,  with  his 
oracles  and  train  of  priests  ?  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
tell  of  all  the  ibises,  apes,  and  goats,  and  thousand  dei- 


ch.  viii.      The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.  201 

ties  still  more  absurd,  with  which  the  Egyptians  have 
deluged  us  ,  and  I  cannot  understand,  my  friends,  how 
you  can  bear  to  have  them  honoured  as  much  as,  or 
more  even  than  yourselves.  And,  Jupiter,  how  can  you 
Let  them  hang  those  ram's  horns  on  your  head  ?  "  Momus 
is  reminded  that  these  are  mysterious  emblems,  which  an 
ignorant  outsider  must  not  mock  at,  and  he  readily  ad- 
mits that  in  those  times  only  the  initiated  could  dis- 
tinguish between  a  monster  and  a  god 

Lucian's  banter  did  not  flow  from  any  deeper  source  of 
faith  in  a  religion  purer  than  those  bastard  forms  of  idol 
worship.  He  was  entirely  sceptical  and  unimpassioned, 
and  the  unseen  world  was  to  his  thoughts  animated  by 
no  higher  life,  nor  might  man  look  for  anything  beyond 
the  grave.  His  attacks  upon  the  established  faith  were 
far  from  being  carried  on  in  the  spirit  of  a  philosophic 
propaganda.  He  was  unsparing  in  his  mockery  of  the 
would-be  sages  who  talked  so  grandly  of  the  contempt 
for  riches  and  for  glory,  of  following  Honour  as  their 
only  guide,  of  keeping  anger  within  bounds,  and  treating 
the  great  ones  of  the  earth  as  equals,  and  who  yet  must 
have  a  fee  for  every  lesson,  and  do  homage  to  the  rich. 
"  They  are  greedy  of  filthy  lucre,  more  passionate  than 
dogs,  more  cowardly  than  hares,  more  lascivious  than 
asses,  more  thievish  than  cats,  more  quarrelsome  than 
cocks."  He  describes  at  length  the  indignities  to  which 
thev  are  willing  to  submit  as  domestic  moralists  in  the 
service  of  stingy  and  illiterate  patrons,  or  in  the  train  of 
some  fine  lady  who  likes  to  show  at  times  her  cultivated 
tastes,  but  degrades  her  spiritual  adviser  to  the  company 
of  waiting  maids  and  insolent  pages,  or  even  asks  him  to 
devote  his  care  to  the  confinement  of  her  favourite  dog, 
and  to  the  litter  foou  to  be  expected.  One  by  one  they 
pass  before  us  in  his  pages,  the  several  types  of  militant 


20  2  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii. 

philosophy, — the  popular  lecturer,  the  court  confessor, 
the  public  missionary  in  Cynic  dress,  the  would  be  pro- 
phets, and  the  wonder-mongers,  astrologers,  and  charla- 
tans, all  crowding  to  join  the  ranks  of  a  profession 
where  the  only  needful  stock  in  trade  was  a  staff,  a 
mantle,  and  a  wallet,  with  ready  impudence  and  a  fluent 
tongue. 

Was  Lucian  concerned  for  the  good  name  of  the 
earnest  thinkers  of  old  time,  the  founders  of  the  great 
schools  of  thought,  whose  dogmas  were  parodied  by 
these  impostors?  Not  so  indeed  The  old  historic  names 
appear  before  us  in  his  auction  scene  ;  but  the  paltry 
biddings  made  for  each  show  how  he  underrated  them, 
and  in  his  pictures  of  the  realms  of  the  departed  spirits 
all  the  high  professions  of  the  famous  moralists  of  Greece 
did  not  raise  them  above  an  ignominious  want  of  dignity 
and  courage. 

Thus  with  mocking  irony  the  scoffer  rang  out  the 
,  funeral  knell  of  the  creeds  and  systems  of  the  ancient 
world.  Genius  and  heroism,  high  faith  and  earnest 
thought,  seemed  one  by  one  to  turn  to  dust  and  ashes 
under  the  solvent  of  his  merciless  wit.  Religion  was  a 
mere  syllabus  of  old  wives'  fables  or  a  creaking  ma- 
chinery  of  supernatural  terrors  ;  philosophy  was  an  airy 
unreality  of  metaphysic  cobwebs  ;  enthusiasm  was  the 
disguise  of  knaves  and  badge  of  dupes;  life  was  an 
ignoble  scramble  uncheered  by  any  rays  of  higher  light 
and  unredeemed  by  any  faith  or  hope  from  a  despairing 
self-contempt. 


ch.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.     203 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  ADMINISTRATIVE   FORS   OF   THE   IMPERIAL 
GOVERNMENT. 

The  imperial  ruler  governed  with  unqualified  authority. 
No  checks  or  balances  or  constitutional  safeguards  were 
provided  by  the  theory  of  the  state,  and  the  . 

venerable  forms  which  lingered  on  existed  perial  ruler 
mainly  by  his  sufferance.  The  Curule  offices  absolute 
remained  only  as  part  of  the  showy  cere-  sovereign, 
monial  of  the  life  of  Rome,  but  with  no  substantial 
power.  The  senate  met  to  help  the  monarch  with  their 
counsels,  or  to  register  his  decrees  in  formal  shapes  ; 
but  the  reins  had  passed  entirely  from  their  hands.  The 
local  liberties  throughout  the  provinces  were  little 
meddled  with,  and  municipal  self  rule  provoked,  as  yet, 
no  jealousy  ;  but  it  might  be  set  aside  at  any  moment  by 
a  Caesar's  will,  or  its  machinery  abused  as  an  engine  of 
oppression.  Meantime,  however,  the  transition  from  the 
unsystematic  forms  of  the  Republic  was  only  slowly  going 
on,  and  the  agents  of  the  central  government  were  few 
compared  with  those  of  the  widespread  bureaucracy  of 
iater  days. 

The  imperial  household  had  been  organized  at  first 
like  that  of  any  Roman  noble.  Educated  slaves  or 
freedmen,  commonly  of  Greek  extraction,  wrote  the 
letters,  kent  the  books,  or  managed  the  accounts  in 
wealthy  houses,  and  filled  a  great  variety  of  posts,  partly 
menial,  partly  confidential.  In  default  of  aTld  his 
ministers  of  state  and  public   functionaries    ministers 

.  t  wre  at 

of  tried  experience,  the  early  Emperors  had    first  his  own 
used  their  own   domestic  servants  to  mul- 


204  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix 

tiply  their  eyes  and  ears  and  hands  for  the  multitudinous 
business  to  be  transacted.  Weak  rulers  had  been 
often  tools  in  the  hands  of  their  own  insolent  freedmen, 
who  made  colossal  fortunes  by  working  on  their  master's 
fears  or  selling  his  favour  to  the  highest  bidder. 

But  the    Emperors    of  the    second    century  were  too 

strong  and  self-contained  to  stoop  to  the  meanness  of 

such  backstairs  intrigue,  and   we  hear  little 

though  .  .  . 

afterwards  in  their  days  of  the  sinister  influence  of  the 
imperial  freedmen.  But  the  offices  which 
they  had  filled  in  direct  attendance  on  the  ruler  were 
raised  in  seeming  dignity,  though  shorn  perhaps  of 
actual  power,  when  Hadrian  placed  in  them  knights 
who  might  aspire  to  rise  higher  on  the  ladder  of  pro- 
motion. Of  such  posts  there  were  four  of  special  trust 
and  confidence. 

i°.  First  came  the  office  of  the  Privy  Purse  (a  rationi- 
bus),  which  controlled  all  the  accounts  of  the  sovereign's 
„,  revenues,  and  of  the  income  of  the  Fiscus. 

1  he  most  ' 

important  The  poet  Statius  describes  in  lofty  style  the 

of  these  .  . 

were  importance  and  variety  of  the  cares  which 

rationibns  thus  devolved   upon  a   powerful  freedman 

(treasurer).  who  held  the  post  for  several  reigns.  "The 
produce  of  Iberian  gold  mines,  of  the  Egyptian  harvests, 
of  the  pearl  fisheries  of  the  Eastern  seas,  of  the  flocks  of 
Tarentum,  of  the  transparent  crystal  made  in  Alexan- 
drian factories,  of  the  forests  of  Numidia,  of  the  ivory 
of  India,  whatever  the  winds  waft  from  every  quarter 
into  port— all  is  entrusted  to  his  single  care.  The  out- 
goings are  also  his  concern.  The  supplies  of  all  the 
armies  pass  daily  through  his  hands,  the  necessary  sums 
to  stock  the  granaries  of  Rome,  to  build  aqueducts  and 
temples,  to  deck  the  palaces  of  Caesar,  and  to  keep  the 
mints  at  work.  He  has  scant  time  for  sleep  or  food.,  none 


ch   IX.      Administrative  For  as  of  Government.      205 

for  social  intercourse,  and   pleasure  is  a  stranger  to  his 
thoughts." 

2°.  The  prince's  Secretary  (ab  epistulis)  required  of 
course  a  high  degree  of  literary  skill,  as  well  as  the 
powers  of  an  accomplished  penman.  "  He  0 
has,"  says  the  same  poet  of  another  freed-  epistulis 
man,  "  to  speed  the  missives  of  the  monarch 
through  the  world,  to  guide  the  march  of  armies,  to  re- 
ceive the  glad  news  of  victory  from  the  Rhine,  the 
Danube .  the  Euphrates,  from  the  remotest  lands  of 
Thule,  whither  the  conquering  eagles  have  already  made 
their  way.  His  hand  prepares  the  officers'  commissions, 
and  lets  men  know  who  have  gained  the  post  of  centu  • 
rion  or  tribune.  He  has  to  ask  if  the  waters  of  the  Nile 
have  risen  high  enough  for  a  good  harvest,  if  rain  has 
fallen  in  Africa,  and  to  make  a  thousand  like  enqui- 
ries ;  not  Isis,  nor  Mercury  himself,  has  so  many  mes- 
sages of  moment."  In  later  days  there  were  two 
departments  of  the  office,  for  the  language  of  Greece  and 
for  that  of  Italy.  The  former  of  the  two  was  coveted  by 
the  most  famous  scholars  of  the  age,  and  was  looked 
upon  as  the  natural  reward  for  purity  of  style  and  critical 
discernment.  It  led  in  time  to  the  higher  rank  and  the 
substantial  emoluments  of  office. 

30.  It  was  the  duty  of  another  minister  (a  libellis),  to 
open  the  petitions  or  complaints  intended  for  his  master's 
ear,  and  probably  to  make  abstracts  of  their 
contents.     If  we  may  trust  Seneca's  account      fib'eUis 
the    duties    were    arduous    enough,    since      (clerk  of 

petitions). 

Polybius.  who    discharged  them,   had  little 
time  to  nurse  his  private  sorrows.     "Thou  hast  so  many 
thousand   men  to   hear,   so  many  memorials  to  set  in 
order.     To  lay  such  a  mass   of  business,  that  flows  in 
from  the  wide  world,  in  fitting  method  before  the  eyes 


206  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

of  thy  great  prince,  thou  must  have  thyself  unfaltering 
courage.  Thou  must  not  weep,  for  thou  hast  so  many 
weeping  petitioners  to  hear.  To  dry  the  tears  of  so 
many  who  are  in  danger,  and  would  fain  win  their  way 
to  the  mercy  of  thy  gracious  Csesar,  thou  must  needs 
dry  thine  own  eyes  first." 

4°.     The  Chamberlains  often  attained  to  large  influ- 
ence by  their  talents  and  address  ;    but  there  seemea 
something  menial  in  the  duties  of  the  office, 

4  .  a  cubi-  _  _ 

culo  (cham-  which  was  therefore  filled  by  slaves  01 
freedmen,  though,  as  the  court  adopteo 
more  of  the  sentiment  and  language  of  the  East,  the 
overseer  of  the  sacred  bedchamber  (propositus  sacri 
cubiculi)  filled  a  larger  place  in  public  thought,  and 
gained  at  times  complete  ascendancy  over  a  weak  or 
vicious  monarch,  like  the  mayors  of  the  palace  over 
puppet  kings  in  France. 

Of  far  higher  social  dignity  were   the  official  friends 
of  Caesar  (amici  Caesaris),  the  notables  of  Rome  who 
were    honoured   with    his   confidence,    and 
Councii1Vy         called  on  for  advice  as  members  as  a  sort 
*?m,ci.  of  Privy  Council  or  Consistory,  which  met  in 

varying  numbers  at  the  discretion  of  the 
prince,  to  debate  with  him  on  the  affairs  of  state.  It  was 
an  old  custom  with  great  Roman  nobles  to  divide  their 
friends  according  to  gradations  of  their  rank  and  influ- 
ence. The  Emperor's  court  was  formed  on  the  same 
model,  and  it  was  of  no  slight  moment  to  the  aspirant 
after  honours  to  be  ranked  in  one  or  other  of  the  two 
great  privileged  classes.  Out  of  these  were  chosen  the 
companions  (comites,  counts)  of  the  prince  in  all  his 
travels,  who  journeyed  with  him  at  his  cost,  and  were 
entertained  by  him  at  his  table.  In  the  first  century  the 
rank  had  proved  a  dangerous  eminence.  With  moody  and 


ck.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.     207 

suspicious  tyrants,  a  word,  a  look,  had  proved  enough  to 
hurl  the  courtier  from  his  post  of  honour.  But  in  the 
period  before  us  the  lot  was  a  far  happier  one.  The 
Privy  Councillors  were  treated  with  a  marked  respect, 
and  by  the  Antonines  at  least  they  were  not  burdened 
with  the  duties  of  personal  attendance  on  the  prince,  or 
the  mere  etiquette  of  social  intercourse,  save  when  the 
business  of  state  required  their  presence.  At  last  the 
term  became  a  purely  honorary  title,  and  the  great 
functionaries  throughout  the  empire  were  styled  the 
friends  or  counts  of  Caesar. 

The  imperial  officers  were  not  appointed,  like  the 
ministers  of  state  in  modern  times,  to  great  depart- 
ments, such  as  War,  the  Home  Office,  the  Exchequer; 
but  each  held  a  fraction  of  delegated  power  within  local 
limits  carefully  prescribed.  The  city  of  Rome,  the 
prince's  bodyguard,  the  urban  watch,  a  province  or  an 
army,  were  put  under  the  command  of  officers  who 
looked  only  to  the  Emperor  for  orders.  Two  of  these 
posts  towered  high  above  the  rest  in  dignity  and  trust. 

(1)  The  Praefect  of  the  City  represented  the  Emperor 
in  his  absence,  and  maintained  civil  order  in  the  capital. 
The  police  of  Rome  lay  wholly  in  his  sphere 

of  competence,   with    summary   powers   to      of^aiy04 
proceed  against  slaves  or  disturbers  of  the 
peace,  out  of  which  grew  gradually  the  functions  of  a 
High  Court  of  Criminal  Jurisdiction. 

(2)  The  Prefect  of  the  Praetorian  soldiers  was  at  first 
only  the  commander  of  the   few  thousand   household 
troops  who  served  as  the  garrison  of  Rome.    The  Praefect 
While  the  legions  were  far  away  from  the    of  the  Frseto- 

,  ,.    .       _.  c    rian  Guards 

frontier,  the  temper  of  the  Praetorians  was  of 

vital  moment,  and  the  Praefects  might  and  did  dispose 

of  the  safety  of  a  throne.    Sometimes  their  loyalty  seemed 


208  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

to  be  secured  by  boons  and  honours,  or  by  marriage 
ties  ;  sometimes  two  were  named  together,  to  balance 
each  other  by  their  rivalries  ;  but  they  were  always  dan- 
gerous to  their  master,  till  in  the  fourth  century  the 
power  of  the  sword  was  wholly  taken  from  them  and 
lodged  in  the  hands  of  separate  commanders.  Already 
the  greatest  jurists  of  the  day  had  been  appointed  to  the 
office,  to  replace  the  Emperor  on  the  seat  of  justice,  and 
it  became  at  last  the  supreme  court  of  appeal  in  civil 
jurisdiction. 

The  whole  of  the  Roman  empire,  save  Italy  alone, 
was  divided  into  provinces,  and  in  each  the  central 
government  was  represented  by  a  ruler  sent  from  Rome. 
For  the  peaceful  lands  long  since  annexed, 
Provincial  where  no  armed  force  was  needed,  a  gov- 
Governors,  ernor  (proconsul  or  propraetor)  was  chosen 
by  the  senate,  in  whose  name  the  country  was  adminis- 
tered. For  border  lands,  or  others  where  there  was  any 
danger  of  turbulence  or  civil  feud,  a  lieutenant  (legatus) 
of  the  Emperor  ruled  in  his  master's  name,  and  held  the 
power  of  the  sword.  There  were  doubtless  cases  still  of 
cruelty  and  greed;  but  the  worst  abuses  of  republican 
misgovernment  had  been  long  since  swept  away.  The 
prince  or  his  councillors  kept  strict  watch  and  ward,  and 
sharply  called  offenders  to  account;  the  provincial  no- 
tables sat  in  the  imperial  senate,  in  which  every  real 
grievance  could  find  a  champion  and  a  hearing.  There 
was  a  financial  agent  (procurator)  of  the  sovereign  in 
each  country,  ready  to  note  and  to  report  all  treasonable 
action ;  despatches  travelled  rapidly  by  special  posts 
organized  by  the  government  along  the  great  highways. 
The  armed  force  was  seldom  lodged  in  the  hands  of 
civil  rulers  ;  the  payment  of  fixed  salaries  for  office 
made  indirect  gains  seem  far  less  venial ;  and  the  old 


ch  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.     209 

sentiment  was  gone  that  the  world  was  governed  in  the 
interest  of  Rome  or  of  its  nobles.  The  responsibilities  ol 
power  raised  the  lone  of  many  of  the  rulers,  and  moral 
qualities  which  had  languished  in  the  stifling  air  of  the 
great  city  flourished  on  the  seat  of  justice  before  the 
eyes  of  subject  peoples. 

A  certain  court  or  retinue  followed  each  governor  to 
his  province,  some  of  which  received  a  definite  sanction 
and  a  salary  from  the  state.  There  were  trusted  in»> 
mates  on  whose  experience  or  energy  he  might  r«ily, 
trained  jurists  to  act  as  assessors  in  the 
courts,  and  to  guide  his  judgment  on  nice  suftetheir 
points  of  law,  young  nobles  eager  to  see  life 
in  foreign  lands,  literary  men  to  amuse  his  leisure 
moments  on  the  journey,  or  to  heir  in  drafting  his 
dt-spatches,  practised  accountants  for  financial  business, 
surveyors  or  architects  for  public  works,  together  with 
personal  attendants  to  minister  to  their  master's  wants. 
None  of  these,  save  perhaps  the  notaries  (scribae),  were 
permanent  officials,  and  ♦"heir  number  on  the  whole  was 
small,  and  quite  disproportionate  to  the  size  and  popu- 
lation of  the  provir_e.  For  the  agents  of  the  central 
government  were  few,  and  local  liberties  were  still 
respected,  though  there  were  ominous  signs  of  coming 
changes. 

The  imperial  rulers  had  shown  little  jealousy  as  yet  of 
municipal  self  rule,  and  almost  every  town  was  a  unit 
of  free-life,  with  many  administrative  forms 
of  local  growth    still  undisturbed.     Magis- 

0  &  magistrates  , 

/rates  were  elected  year  bv  vear  in  each  ; 
town  councils  formed  of  leading  citizens  and  ex-officials 
ruled  all  concerns  of  public  interest ;  general  assemblies 
of  the  townsmen    met  from  time  to  time,  and  took  an 
active  part   in   the  details   of  civic   life,  long  after  the 


210  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

comitia  of  Rome  were  silenced.  Nor  were  these  merely 
idle  forms  which  disguised  the  reality  of  servitude.  Men 
still  found  scope  for  active  energy  in  managing  the 
affairs  of  their  own  towns;  they  still  saw  prizes  for  a  pas- 
sionate ambition  in  the  places  and  the  honours  which 
their  fellow  countrymen  could  give. 

We  have  only  to  follow  the  career  of  some  of  the  lead- 
ing provincials  of  the  age,  we  have  only  to  turn  over  the 
copies  of  the  numerous  inscriptions  left  on  stone  or 
bronze,  to  see  how  much  remained  in  outward  show  at 
least,  of  the  old  forms  of  republican  activity, 
freedom!  A   Herodes    Atticus    could   still  be  a  com- 

manding figure  in  the  life  of  Greece :  a 
Dion  Chrysostom  could  find  occasion  for  his  eloquence 
in  soothing  the  passions  of  assemblies  and  reconciling 
the  feuds  of  neighbouring  cities.  No  sacrifices  seemed 
too  costly  for  the  wealthy  who  wished  to  be  dignitaries 
in  their  native  boroughs.  To  gain  a  year  or  two  of 
office  they  spent  vast  sums  in  building  libraries  or 
aqueducts,  or  baths,  or  schools,  or  temples,  squandering 
sometimes  a  fortune  in  the  extravagant  magnificence  of 
largesses  or  shows.  They  disputed  with  each  other  no\ 
only  for  the  office  of  duumvir  or  of  aedile,  but  for  hono 
rary  votes  of  every  kind,  for  precedence  at  the  theatres^ 
for  statues  whose  heads  were  to  be  presently  replaces 
with  those  of  other  men,  for  a  flattering  inscription  even 
on  the  building  which  the  city  had  accepted  at  their 
hands. 

But  if  we  look  below  the  surface,  and  listen  to  moral, 
ists  like  Plutarch,  who  best  reflect  the  social  features  ot 
provincial  life,  we  may  have  cause  to  think  that  public 
spirit  was  growing  fainter  every  day,  and  that  the  securi- 
ties for  freedom  and  self-rule  were  very  few. 

(i)  Rome  was  the  real  centre  of  attraction  as  of  oldv 


ch.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.     211 

the  aim  of  all  ambitious  hopes.     Local  dis-    ^  few  ^ 
tinctions  were  a  natural  stepping-stone  to  a    rantees  of 

permanence, 

place  in  the  Senate  or  the  Privy  Council,    as  illustrated 
and  employments  else  of  little  worth  found    by  p  utarc 
a  value  as  the  lowest  rounds  of  a  ladder  of  promotion, 
on  which  none  could  mount  high  until  they  had  made  a 
name  at  Rome.     Men  of  good  families  dropped  their 
ancestral  titles  and  latinized  their  names  to  pass  as  de- 
scendants of  the  conquerors  of  the  world.     In  a  spirit  of 
flattery  and  mean  compliance,  the  municipal 
authorities  abridged  with  their  own  hands     ^JJlfeT"11" 
their  ancient  freedom,  tore  up  their  old  tra-     courted 

interference 

ditional  charters,  consulted  the  governor  at 

every  turn,  and  laid  humbly  at  his  feet  the  reins   of 

power. 

Of  such  unconscious  traitors  Plutarch  speaks  with 
just  severity.  He  reminds  his  readers  that  the  invalids 
who  have  been  wont  to  bathe  and  eat  only  at  the 
bidding  of  their  doctor,  soon  lose  the  healthy  enjoyment 
of  their  strength  ;  and  so  too  those  who  would  appeal  to 
Caesar  or  his  servants  in  every  detail  of  public  life,  find 
to  their  cost  that  they  are  masters  of  themselves  no 
longer ;  they  degrade  senate,  magistrates,  courts,  and 
people,  and  reduce  their  country  to  a  state  of  impotent 
and  debasing  servitude. 

He  would  have  them  cherish  no  illusions,  and  give 
themselves  no  airs  of  independence,  for  real  power  had 
passed  out  of  their  hands  ;  but  it  was  needless  folly  to 
seem  to  court  oppression,  or  to  appear  incapable  of  using 
the  liberties  which  still  remained.  For  these  lasted  on 
by  sufferance  only,  and  had  no  guarantees  of  perma- 
nence ;  the  old  federal  leagues  had  passed  away,  and 
there  was  no  bond  of  union  between  the  cities  save  the 
tie  of  loyalty  to  the  Emperor  at  Rome.     As  units  of  free 


212  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

life,  linked  to  each  other  by  some  system  of  provincial 
parliaments,  they  might  have  given  effective  utterance 
to  the  people's  will,  and  have  formed  organized  centres 
of  resistance  to  oppression,  but  such  assemblies  can  be 
hardly  traced,  save  here  and  there  in  feeble  forms,  and 
the  imperial  mechanism  was  brought  to  bear  directly  on 
a  number  of  weak  and  isolated  atoms. 

(2)  The  proconsuls  or  lieutenants  of  Caesar  grew  im- 
patient of  any  show  of  independence  or  any  variety  of 
,  ,   ,  local  usage.     Not  content  with  the  maintc 

(2)  the  ° 

governors  nance  of  peace  and  order,  and  with  guarding 

meddle  °  the  interests  of  state,  they  began  to  meddle 

more,  m  a|j  foe  details  of  civic  life.     A  street-riot, 

or  a  financial  crisis,  or  an  architect's  mistake  in  public 
works,  was  excuse  enough  for  superseding  lower  powers, 
and  changing  the  whole  machinery  of  local  politics. 
Sometimes  immunities  were  swept  away,  and  old  cus- 
toms set  aside  by  self-willed  rulers  greedy  of  extended 
power,  ignorant  even  of  the  language  of  the  subject 
peoples,  and  careless  of  the  associations  of  the  past. 
Sometimes  conscientious  men  like  Pliny,  who  rose  above 
sinister  or  selfish  aims,  would  interpose  in  the  interests 
of  symmetry  and  order,  or  wished  to  prove  their  loyalty 
and  zeal  by  carrying  out  their  master's  plans  with  scant 
regard  for  old  privileges  or  historic  methods. 

(3)  The  imperial  system  was  one  of  personal  rule,  and 
the  stronger   and  more  self-contained  the  Caesar  on  the 

throne,  the  more  was  he  tempted  to  make 
Caesar  on  &  ^'\s  government  felt  in  every  department  of 
th-  throne         hjs  p0wer.    The  second  century  was  the  age 

was  more  *  J  ° 

and  more  of  able  and  untiring  rulers,  whose  activitv 

appealed  to. 

was  felt  in  every  part  of  their  wide  empire. 
The  ministers  who  knew  the  temper  of  their  sovereigns 
appealed  to  them  in  every  case  of  doubt,  and  the  impe- 


CH.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Govermnent.     213 

rial  posts  along  the  great  high  roads  were  kept  in  con- 
stant work  with  the  despatches  which  went  to  and  fro 
between  every  province  and  the  centre.  From  distant 
Bithynia  came  Pliny's  questions  about  a  bath,  a  guild  of 
firemen,  the  choice  of  a  surveyor,  or  the  status  of  a  run- 
away slave  who  had  enlisted  in  the  army;  and  Trajan 
thought  it  needful  to  write  special  letters  to  forbid  a 
couple  of  soldiers  being  shifted  from  their  post  or  to 
sanction  the  removal  of  a  dead  man's  ashes. 

Under  cautious  princes  like  the  Antonines  the  effects 
of  an  absolutism  so  unqualified  were  for  a  time  disguised ; 
but  the  evils  of  misgovernment,  which  in  the  last  century 
had  been  mainly  felt  at  Rome,  might  now,  as  the  empire 
grew  more  centralized,  be  known  in  every  land.  They 
were  not  hid  from  the  eyes  of  Plutarch,  who  preferring 
as  he  does  monarchic  rule  to  every  other  social  form, 
and  looking  on  the  sovereign  as  the  representative  of 
heaven  on  earth,  yet  insists  on  the  grave  danger  to  the 
world  if  the  prince  has  not  learnt  the  lessons  of  self- 
mastery.  "He  should  be  like  the  sun,  which  moves 
most  slowly  when  it  attains  its  highest  elevation." 

We  shall  better  understand  the  perils  of  the  system 
then  adopted  if  we  look  forward  to  some  of 
the  actual  evils  of  the  centralized  monarchy       evils  of  a 
of  the  later  empire.  later  age> 

i°.  The  sums  which  flowed  into  the  treasury  of  Rome 
seem  to  have  been  still  moderate,  if  compared  with  the 
vast  extent  of  her  dominions,  and  the  wealth 

i°.     1  he 

of  many  of  the  subject  lands.     Much  of  the       pressure  of 
expense  of  government  fell  upon  the  local 
resources  of  the  towns,  which  had  their  own  domains, 
or  levied  special  taxes  for  the  purpose ;  but  the  rest  may 
be  brought  under  three  heads,  (1)  that  of  the  pay  and 
pensions   for   the   soldiers    of    the    legions,  (2)    of  the 


214  The  Age  of  the  Ant  a  nines.  CH.  ix. 

largesses  of  corn  or  money,  and  (3)  of  the  prince's  civil 
list,  including  the  charges  of  his  household  and  the 
salaries  of  public  servants.  The  first  and  second  varied 
little  in  amount ;  there  were  few  changes  in  the  number  of 
troops  or  the  expenses  of  the  service  save  in  crises  like  the 
Dacian  or  Marcomannic  war;  at  Rome  the  recipients  of 
corn  were  kept  at  nearly  the  same  figure,  and  it  was  dan- 
gerous to  neglect  the  imperial  bounties  to  the  populace 
of  the  ereat  towns.  The  third  was  the  division  in  which 
a  thrifty  ruler  might  retrench,  or  a  prodigal  exhaust  his 
coffers  by  extravagance.  The  question  was  one  of  per- 
sonal economy  or  self-indulgence,  for  the  civil  servants 
were  not  many,  and  their  salaries  as  yet  formed  no  great 
item  in  the  budget.  It  was  by  the  wantonness  of  inso- 
lent caprices  that  tyrants  such  as  Caligula  or  Nero 
drained  their  treasuries,  and  were  driven  to  refill  them 
by  rapine  or  judicial  murder.  But  while  they  struck  at 
wealthy  victims  they  spared  the  masses  of  the  people, 
and  it  was  left  to  an  unselfish  ruler  like  Vespasian  to 
face  the  outcry  and  the  indignation  caused  by  a  heavier 
system  of  taxation. 

In  general  the  empire  had,  in  that  respect  at  least,  been 
a  boon  to  the  whole  Roman  world,  for  it  had  replaced 

the  licence  and  extortion  of  provincial  go- 
moderate  at       vernors    and    farmers    of   the   tithes    by    a 

system  of  definite  tariff  and  control.  The 
land-tax  levied  in  every  country  beyond  Italy  had  taken 
commonly  the  form  of  a  tithe  or  fraction  of  the  produce, 
farmed  by  middlemen  (publicani),  and  collected  by  their 
agents,  who  were  often  unscrupulous  and  venal.  It  was 
a  method  wasteful  to  the  state  and  oppressive  to  the 
subjects,  and  full  of  inequalities  and  seeming  hardships. 
The  first  step  taken  by  Augustus  was  to  carry  out  a 
general  survey  of  the  empire  as  a  needful  condition  of  a 


en.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.      215 

fairer  distribution  of  the  burdens ;  another  was  to  control 
the  licence  of  the  publicans  by  a  financial  agent  in  each 
province,  holding  a  commission  directly  from  the  prince. 

Further  steps  were  gradually  taken,  and  by  the  time 
of  Marcus  Aurelius  the  system  of  middlemen  was  swept 
away.  Tithes  were  not  levied  as  before  in  kind,  but  a 
land  tax  (tributum  solij  of  uniform  pressure  took  their 
place,.  Italy  had  long  enjoyed  immunities  under  the 
Republic,  when  she  lived  upon  the  plunder  of  the  world ; 
but  custom-duties  (portoriaj  were  imposed  on  her  by  the 
first  Caesar,  and  tolls  at  the  markets  (centesima  rerum 
venalium)  by  Augustus,  while  succession  duties  (vi- 
cesima  hereditatum)  were  levied  in  the  course  of  the 
same  reign  in  spite  of  the  indignant  outcry  of  the  wealth- 
ier Romans.  These  or  their  equivalents  under  other 
names  were  the  chief  sources  of  revenue,  to  which  we 
have  to  add  the  lands  and  mines  which  passed  into  the 
imperial  domains  as  the  heritage  of  the  state  or  of  the 
royal  houses  of  the  provinces,  together  with  the  proceeds 
of  legacies  and  confiscations. 

There  was  no  large  margin,  it  would  seem,  for  per- 
sonal extravagance  or  a  social  crisis  ;  but  the  Antonines 
were  happily  of  frugal  habits,  and  one  of 
them,   as  we    have   seen,   parted   with    the       gradually 
heir-looms  of  the  palace  rather   than    lay      more  in- 
fresh  burdens  on  his  people.     Future  rulers 
were  less  scrupulous  than  they.     The  brilliancv  of  per- 
sonal display,  the  costly  splendours  borrowed  from  the 
Eastern  courts,  the  charge  of  a  rapidly  increasing  civil 
service,  the  corruption  of  the  agents  of  the  treasury,  the 
pensions  paid  to  the  barbarian  leaders — these  and  other 
causes  led  to  a  steady  drain  upon  the  exchequer  which 
it  was  harder  every  year  to  keep  supplied.     Fresh  dues 
and  tolls  of  various  kinds  were  frequently  imposed  ;  the 


216  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

burdens  on  the  land  grew  more  oppressive  as  the  pros- 
perity of  the  wealth  producing  classes  waned,  till  at  last 
a  chorus  of  many  voices  rises  to  deplore  the  general 
misery  caused  by  the  pressure  of  taxation,  the  insolence 
of  the  collectors  in  the  towns,  the  despair  of  the  poor 
artisans  when  the  poll-tax  is  demanded,  parents  selling 
their  children  into  slavery,  women  driven  to  a  life  of 
shame,  landowners  flying  from  the  exhausted  fields  to 
take  refuge  even  with  barbarian  peoples,  and  all  signs 
of  universal  bankruptcy. 

2°.  The  administrative  system  gradually  became  more 

bureaucratic    and    more    rigidly    oppressive.     In    early 

n  ^u  days   the  permanent  civil   servants  of  the 

2°.  The  x 

increase  of  the  state  were  few  in  number.  At  Rome  we  read 
of  notaries  or  accountants  (scribae),  of  jave- 
lin men  (lictores),  and  ushers  (apparitores)  in  personal 
attendance  on  the  magistrates.  These  were  seemingly 
allowed  to  form  themselves  in  guilds  in  defence  of  their 
professional  rights,  and  gained  a  sort  of  vested  interest 
in  their  office,  which  could  at  times  be  even  bought 
or  sold. 

But  their  number  and  importance  was  not  great.  We 
have  little  evidence  of  like  classes  in  the  provinces,  and 
the  o-overnor's  suite  went  out  and  returned  with  him 
as  his  own  friends  or  retainers,  while  doubtless  servile 
labour  was  largely  used  upon  the  spot. 

Such  a  practice  was  too  rude  and  immature  to  last 
long  after  the  activity  of  the  central  government  became 
more  intense.  Tn  the  course  of  time,  there- 
b7opfr™1ve  fore,  the  whole  character  of  such  official 
th?C?S?nS  °n  work  was  changed ;  the  accountants  and 
Service.  t^e  wrjters  rapidly  increased  in  number  as 

the  business  grew  upon  their  hands,  and  the  state  secured 
its  servants  a  professional  status.     This,  strange  to  say, 


CH.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.     217 

was  called  a  military  service  (militia) ;  many  of  the 
grades  of  rank  adopted  in  different  stages  of  employ- 
ment were  borrowed  from  the  army;  a  certain  uniform 
was  worn  at  last,  and  commissions  were  made  out  in  the 
Emperor's  name,  while  a  sort  of  martial  discipline  was 
observed  in  the  bureaux  (scrinia).  Honours  and  privi- 
leges and  illustrious  names  were  given  to  the  heads  of 
the  official  hierarchy ;  but  the  state  began  to  tighten  its 
grasp  upon  its  agents,  to  require  a  long  period  of  ser- 
vice, to  refuse  permission  to  retire  until  a  substitute  was 
found,  to  force  the  children  to  learn  their  fathers'  craft 
and  step  one  day  into  their  places,  till  the  whole  civil 
service  gradually  became  one  large  official  caste,  in 
which  each  generation  was  bound  to  a  lifelong  servitude, 
disguised    under  imposing  names  and  military  forms. 

30.  A  like  series  of  changes  may  be  traced  in  a  higher 
social    order.     In  all  the    lands    through   which  Greek 
or  Italian  influence  had  spread,  some  sort 
of  town-council  had  existed  as  a  necessary    honou^be^1 
element  of  civic  life.     The  municipal  laws    c?me  onerous 

1  charges. 

of  the  first  Caesars  defined  the  functions  of 
this    order  (ordo    decurionum,    curia),    which    like    the 
Roman   Senate  was  composed  of  ex  officials,  or  other 
citizens  of  dignity  and  wealth. 

For  a  century  or  more,  while  the  tide  of  public  life 
flowed  strongly  in  the  provinces,  the  status  of  a  coun- 
cillor (decurio,  curialis)  was  prized,  and  leading  men 
spent  time  and  money  freely  in  the  service  of  their 
fellows.  As  the  empire  grew  more  centralized,  local 
distinctions  were  less  prized,  and  we  find  in  the  inscrin- 
tions  fewer  names  of  patriots  willing,  like  Herodes  Atti- 
cus,  to  enrich  their  native  cities  with  the  monuments  of 
their  lavish  bounty.  As  municipal  honours  were  less 
valued,  the  old  relation  was  inverted,  and  the  councillors 


218  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

had  to  fill  in  turn  the  public  offices,  which  instead  of 
dignities  were  felt  to  be  oppressive  burdens. 

By  the  time  of  Trajan  we  find  the  traces  of  unwilling- 
ness to  serve,  and  in  the  reign  of  Marcus  Aurelius  the 
reluctance  had  grown  already  more  intense.  The  sophist 
Aristides  tells  us  frankly  of  his  eagerness  to  escape  from 
civic  changes,  how  he  wept  and  fasted,  prayed  and 
pleaded  to  his  gods,  till  he  saw  the  vision  of  white  maids 
who  came  to  set  him  free,  and  found  the  dream  was 
followed  by  imperial  despatches  which  contained  the 
dispensation  so  much  longed  for. 

The  central  government,  in  its  concern,  devised  more 
marks  of  honour  and  distinction  ;  but  still  men  grew  less 
willing  to  wear  the  gilded  chains,  for  the  responsibilities 
of  office  grew  more  weighty.  The  order  of  dccuriones  had 
not  only  to  meet  as  it  best  could  the  local  needs,  but  to 
raise  the  imperial  taxes,  to  provide  for  the  commissariat 
of  the  armies,  and  keep  the  people  in  good  humour  by 
spectacles  and  corn  and  grants  of  money.  Men  sought 
to  quit  their  homes  and  part  with  their  estates,  and  hoard 
as  best  they  could  the  proceeds  of  the  sale,  if  only  they 
could  free  themselves  from  public  duties.  But  still  the 
state  pursued  them  with  its  claims ;  the  service  of  the  coun- 
cillors became  a  charge  on  landed  property,  the  citizen 
of  means  was  a  functionary  who  might  not  quit  his  post. 
He  might  not  sell  his  fields,  for  the  treasury  had  a  lien 
on  them ;  he  might  not  travel  at  his  ease,  for  that  would 
be  a  waste  of  public  time  ;  he  might  not  live  unmarried, 
for  his  duty  was  to  provide  children  to  succeed  him  when 
he  died,  he  might  not  even  take  Holy  Orders  when 
he  would,  for  folks  of  narrow  means  were  good  enough 
for  that,  but  "  he  must  stay  in  the  bosom  of  his  native 
country,  and,  like  the  minister  of  holy  things,  go  through 
the  ceaseless  round  of  solemn  service." 


CH.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.      219 

In  their  despair  the  decuriones  try  to  fly,  but  they  are 
hunted  down  without  compunction.  Their  names  are 
posted  in  the  proclamations  with  runaways  and  crimi- 
nals of  the  lowest  class  ;  they  are  tracked  even  to  the 
precincts  of  the  churches,  to  the  mines  and  quarries 
where  they  seek  shelter,  to  the  lowest  haunts  of  the  most 
degraded  outcasts.  In  spite  of  all  such  measures  their 
numbers  dwindled  constantly,  and  had  to  be  recruited, 
while  land  was  given  to  the  newly  enrolled  to  qualify 
them  for  the  duties  of  the  service.  Still  the  cry  was  for 
more  to  fill  the  vacant  offices  of  state,  arid  the  press-gang 
gathered  in  fresh  tax-gatherers — for  they  were  little 
more — from  every  class.  The  veteran's  son,  if  weak  or 
idle,  the  coward  who  had  mutilated  himself  to  be  unfit  for 
soldiers'  work,  the  deacon  who  had  unfrocked  himself  or 
been  degraded — all  were  good  enough  for  this — the 
priestly  gambler  even,  who  had  been  counted  hopeless 
and  excommunicate,  and  who  was  declared  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  an  evil  spirit,  was  sent  not  to  a  hospital  but  to 
the  curia. 

4°.  The  same  tendencies  were  at  work  meantime  on 
every  side  in  other  social  grades,  for  in  wellnigh  all  alike 
the   imperial    system    first    interfered    with 
healthy  energy  by  its  centralised  machinery,    f°j^iesS  a"d 
discouraged  industry  by  heavy  burdens,  and    became 

0  j      j  j  hereditary- 

then  appealed  to  force  to  keep  men  to  the    burdens. 

taskwork    which    they  shunned.     Its  earlier 

rulers  had  indeed  favoured  the  growth  of  trade  and  the 

development  of  industry,  had  respected  the  dignity  of 

the  labour  of  free  artisans,  and    fostered  the  growth  of 

guilds  and  corporations  which  gave  the  sense  of  mutual 

protection  and  self-respect  to  the  classes  among  which 

they  sprung.     Bounties  and  privileges  were  granted  to 

many  of  such   unions,  which    specially  existed  for  the 


220  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

service  of  the  state,  for  the  carrying  trade  of  Roman 
markets,  or  the  labours  of  the  post,  the  arsenals,  the 
docks. 

Over  these  the  control  became  gradually  more  strin- 
gent as  the  spur  of  self-interest  ceased  to  prompt  the 
workers  to  continued  effort.  Men  must  be  chained,  like 
^alley  slaves  if  need  be,  to  their  work,  rather  than  the 
well-beinsr  of  societv  should  suffer,  or  government  be 
discredited  in  vital  points.  The  principle  adopted  in  their 
case  was  extended  to  many  other  forms  of  industry 
which  languished  from  the  effects  of  higher  taxation  or 
unwise  restrictions,  and  were  likely  to  be  deserted  in 
despair.  In  the  rural  districts  also  sturdy  arms  must  be 
kept  to  the  labours  of  the  field,  lest  the  towns  be 
starved  by  their  neglect ;  peasants  must  not  be  allowed 
to  roam  at  will,  or  betake  themselves  to  other  work,  but 
be  tied  to  the  fields  they  cultivated  in  a  state  of  vil- 
leinage or  serfdom.  The  armies  could  not  safelv  be 
exposed  to  the  chances  of  volunteer  recruits  ;  but  the 
landowners  must  provide  their  quota,  or  the  veterans 
bring  up  their  children  in  the  camp,  or  military  colonies 
be  planted  on  the  frontier  with  the  obligation  of  per- 
petual service. 

So,  high  and  low,  through  every  grade  of  social  status, 
the  tyranny  of  a  despotic  government  was  felt.  It  drained 
the  life-blood  from  the  heart  of  every  social  organism  ; 
it  cut  at  the  roots  of  public  spirit  and  of  patriotic  pride, 
and  dried  up  the  natural  sources  of  unselfish  effort. 
And  then,  in  self-defence,  it  chained  men  to  their  work, 
and  made  each  department  of  the  public  service  a  sort 
of  convict  labour  in  an  hereditary  caste. 

But  the  toil  of  slaves  is  but  a  sorry  substitute  for  the 
enlightened  industry  of  freemen;  and  the  empire  grew 
poorer  as  its  liberties  were  cramped.     It  grew  weaker 


CH.  ix.     Administrative  Forms  of  Government.     221 

also  in  its  energies  of  self-defence,  for  when  the  barba- 
rians knocked  loudest  at  the  gates,  instead  of  the  strong 
cohesion  of  a  multitude  of  centres  of  free  life  bound  to 
each  other  by  a  thousand  interlacing  sympathies,  they 
found  before  them  only  towns  and  villages  standing 
alone  in  helpless  isolation,  and  vainly  looking  round 
them  for  defence,  while  the  central  mechanism  was 
sadly  out  of  gear. 

The  imperial  Colossus  seemingly  had  dwindled  to  an 
inorganic  group  of  loose  atoms. 


INDEX. 


ADONIS,  169. 
Aelia  Capitohna,  75. 
Agri  decumates,  28 
Agricoia,  Calpurnius,  99. 
Akiba,  75. 
Alcantara,  16. 

Alexander  the  grammarian,  120. 
Alexandria,  60,  113,  185. 
Algeria,  55. 
Altinum,  103. 
Ancona,  17. 
Anio,  18. 
Antimachus,  67. 
Aminous,  60. 

Antioch,  43,  47,  54.  93,  II2>  x99- 
Antoninus,   Marcus,  82,  84-135,  143, 

151.  215- 
Antoninus,  Pius,  72,  73,  77-84,  157. 
Antoninus,  Marcus,  42. 
Apamea,  25. 

Apis,  59-  n    „    , 

Apollodorus,  38,  00,  09. 

Apollonius,  82,  119. 

Apologists,  153. 

Appian  Road,  16. 

Apuleius,  196-198. 

Aqua  iVlarcia.   17. 

Aquae  (Biden-Baden),  27. 

Aquileia,  102,  105. 

Arabia,  48. 

Arbela,  47. 

Aristides,  113,  168,  195,  198,  218. 

Aristocles,  193. 

Armenia,  42,  44,  92. 

Arrian,  58,  68,  178. 

Artaxata,  94. 

Arval  Brothers,  158-163. 

Asklepios  fTEsculapiusJ,  167. 

Assyria,  48. 


Athens,  38,  42,  43,  58,  184,  192,  193. 

Attica,  195. 

Attis,  200. 

Augustan  History,  Writers  of,  135. 

Augustus,  11,  26,  28,  63,  74,  157.  l65 

214. 
Aulus  Gellius,  194. 
Aurelius,  M.,  vide  Antoninus. 
Avidius  Cassius,  93,  94,  108-112. 


BABYLON,  48. 
Bacchanalia,  165. 
Baiae,  73. 
Barchochebas,  75. 
tfelgrade,  31. 
Beneventum,  19. 
Bether,  75. 
Bithynia,  141,  21a. 
Blandina,  149. 
Brigantes,  80. 
Britain,  53,  55,  99. 
Bructeri,  26. 


CALEDONIA,  99 
Caligula,  73,  162. 
Calpurnius,  v.  Agricoia, 
Capitoline,  the,  38. 
Cappadocia,  59. 
Carlisle,  55. 
Carnac,  59. 
Carpathians,  the,  37. 
Carrhae,  42. 
Cassius,  v.  Avidius. 
Cassius,  v.  Dion. 
Catacombs,  the,  132. 
Cato,  67,  81,  190. 
Celsus,  152. 


22X 


Index. 


Centumcellae,  16. 

Cephalonia,  58. 

Cephissia,  194. 

Cria^roneia,  185. 

C11.  ldaea,  49. 

China,  94 

Chrestus,  136. 

Cnristi.in  Church,  the,  135-156,  171, 

188. 
Cicero,  67,  190. 
Cilic  a,  49. 
Ciadova,  35. 
Claudius,  57,  136. 
Clemens,  141:. 
Clyde,  the,  100. 
Colchis,  82. 
C  llegia,  158. 
Commodus,  115,  132. 
Como,  21. 
Constantine,  38. 
Constantius,  40. 
Cornelius  Palma,  65. 
Corybas,  200. 
Crassus,  42. 
Ctesiphon,  48,  49,  94. 
Cu  ius,  80. 

Cynic,  picture  of,  180. 
Cyprus,  49,   75. 
Cyrenaica,  49. 
Czernctz,  35. 


D  ACT  AN  WAR,  29-36. 
Dacians,  29. 
Dante,  51. 

Danube,  the,  27-29,  80,  100. 
Daphne,  42,  93. 
Decebalus,  28,  29,  31,  33. 
Decunones,  218. 
1  )iocletian,  115. 
Diognetus,  119. 
Dion  Cassius,  8,  30,  35,  51,  107,  115, 

174 
Dion  Chrysostom,  6,  182-186 
Dneister,  99. 

Domitian,  1,  7,  26,  14.1,  183. 
Domitilla,   141. 
Drusus,  28. 


TpDESSA,48. 
V  s     F.jrypt,  22,  48,  60,  163. 
Elensinian  mysteries,  113. 
En«ius,  67,  190. 
Ephesns,  193. 
Epictetus,  119,  177-181. 
Epi^han  s,  46. 
Euphrates,  43,  48,  58,  92,  94,  ioa. 


FAUSTINA,   wife   of    Antonimis 
P.,  28. 
Faustina,  wife  of  M.  Aurelius,  90,  96, 

11^-113,  133,  196. 
Fau-tinianae,  114. 
Favorinus,  66,  191. 
Flavian  dynasty,  163. 
Florus,  68. 
Forth,  Firth  of,  100. 
Fronto,  85,  90,  95,  119,  190. 


GALEN,  103. 
Germania  of  Tacitus,  26. 
Germany,  26,  54. 
Getse,  28. 
Gnostics,  154. 
Gordian,  159. 
Goths,  74. 
Gregory  the  Great,  51. 


HADRIAN,  29,  51-76,  144,  145* 
192,  204. 
Hatszeger  Thai,  33. 
Helvidius,  4. 
Hermannstadt,  35. 
Herodes  Atticus,  193,  218. 
Hormisdas,  40. 
Hydaspes,  the,  43. 

T  LLYRIA,  100. 
J_     India,  48. 
Irenaeus,  144. 
Iron  Gates,  the,  35. 
Isaeus,  190. 
Isis,  165,  169,  204. 


TEROME,  76. 

J    .  Jews,  74-77,  8o>  *35« 
Julian,  132. 

Julianus  Sulvius,  63,  68. 
Julius  Caesar,  26. 
Julius  Severus,  76 
Junius   v.  Rusticus. 
Justin  Martyr,  144,  156. 


LAHB.ESTS,  55. 
Licinius  Sura,  12,  29. 
Logos,  the,  155. 
Longinus,  34. 
T.orium,  81,  89. 
Lucian,  151,  198-201. 
Lucilla,  95. 
Lugdunum,  148,  170. 
Lupercalia,  158. 
Lusius  Quietus,  31,  65. 


Index. 


225 


MJESIA,  29,  34. 
Mainz,  29. 
Marc  manni,  100,  105. 
Mausoleu.n  of  Augustus,  74. 
Mausoleum  of  Hadrian,  74. 
Maximus,  120. 
Mcmnon's  statue,  59. 
Memphis,  200. 
Mithras,  200. 
Momus,  200. 
Moc-s,  the,  53,  Bo,  98. 


NERO,  45,  73,  i°3>  x37. 
Nerva,  1-7. 
Newcastle,  55. 
Nicaea,  24. 
Nicomedia,  24. 
Nineveh,  48. 


OGRADINA,  31. 
Origen,  145. 
Orontes,  the,  46. 
Orsova,  31. 
Ostia,  16. 
Oxus,  the,  43. 


PALESTINE,  49,  75. 
Palma,  v.  Cornelius,  65. 
Panatnenaic  Speech.  195. 
Pannonia.  31,  35,  52,  115. 
Parthamdsiris,  44. 
Parthian  War,  under  Trajan,  42-49  ; 

under  M.  Aurelius,  92-96. 
Parthians,  the,  34. 
Peregrinus  Proteus,  151. 
Persia,  48. 
Thidias,  70,  167. 
Philager,  195. 
Phrygian  Mother,  170. 
Placentia,  '9. 

PI, to,  84,  115,  124,  155,  188. 
Pliny,  3,  14,  17,  21,  22,  50,  141,  212. 
P'oti.>a,  9.  15,  53. 
Plutiirch,  166,  185-189,  211. 
Polemon,  82,  192. 
Polybius,  205. 
Polycarp,  147-148. 
Polycletus.  70. 
Pompeianus,  131. 
Pompeius  Magnus,  139. 
Pomponia  Graecina,  136. 
Ponticus,  150. 
Pontine  Marshes,  16. 
Poppaca,  137. 
Pothinus,  149. 


Praefect  of  the  City,  215. 
Praeiect  of  the  Praetorians,  215. 
Prusa,  24,  182,   185. 
Ptolemies,  the,  59. 
Ptolemy,  17. 


QUADI,  102,  106. 
Quietus,  v.  Lusius. 
Quintilian,  190. 
CJuirinal,  the,  38. 


RAVENNA,  108. 
Rhine,  27,  81. 

Rimini,  97. 
Riumanians,  38. 
Rusticus,  87,  98,  119,  146. 


SABAZIUS,  200. 
Sabina.  59. 
Salii.  85,  157. 
Salvius  Julianus,  63,  6&, 
S.unosata,  199. 
Sargetia,  36. 
Sarmatians,  116. 
harmizegethusa,  33, 
Save, the,  31. 
Segestica,  31. 
Seleucia.  43,  48,  94. 
Selinus,  49. 
Seneca,  205. 
Sernpis,  60,  165. 
Servianus,  52.  72. 
Severus,  Julius,  76. 
Sextus,  120. 
Sibylline  books,  164. 
Siimium    114,  196. 
Smyrna,  82,  113,  147,  168,  19s. 
Socrates,  155,  176. 
Sophists,  174. 
Spain,  84, 

Statius  the  Poet.  204. 
Statius  Priscus,  94. 
Stoics,  the,  90,  127-130,  179. 
Strabo,  31. 
Suetonius,  136. 
Suez,  Isthmus  of,  17 
Sura,  v   Licinius. 
Susa,  48. 
Syria,  40,  42,  52. 


TACITUS,  5,  26,  100,  137, 
Tapae.  32. 
Taurobolium,  170. 
Taurus,  113. 


226 


Index. 


Tertullian,  144,  145. 
Thracians,  tue,  27. 
Thule,  205. 
Tiberius,  28,  136. 
Tibur,  villa  at,  69. 
Tierna,  31. 
Tigranes,  43. 
Tigris,  the,  47. 
Tiridates,  45. 
Titus,  48,  74. 

Trajan,  7-51,  142,  185,  218. 
Transylvania,  29,  32. 
Trapezus,  58. 
Troy.  57. 
Turks,  the,  43. 
Turn-Severin,  35. 


T  TLPIA  TRAJANA,  27, 


\  7ENICE,  5i. 

V       Verginius  Rufus,  2. 
Verus,  ./Elius,  71,  88. 
Verus,   Lucius,    91,  92-96,    iot,    io23 

109. 
Verus,  M.  Annius,  v.  M.  Antoninus, 

84.  _ 
Vespas'an,  12,  26,  205. 
Vienna  in  Gaul,  148. 
Vienna  in  Germany,  114. 
Viminacium,  31. 
Volcan  Pass,  35. 


VyALLACKS,  the,  35,  38„ 


XANTEN,  27. 
Xiphilinus,  107 


"  The  volumes  contain  the  ripe  results  of  the  studies  of  men  zoho 
art  authorities  in  their  respective  fields." — The  Nation. 

EPOCHS  OF  HISTORY 


EPOCHS  OF 
ANCIENT    HISTORY 

Eleven  volumes,   i6mo, 
each  $1.00. 


EPOCHS  OF 
MODERN    HISTORY 

Eighteen  volumes,  i6mo, 
each  $1.00. 


The  Epoch  volumes  have  most  successfully  borne  the  test  of 
experience,  and  are  universally  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  series 
of  historical  manuals  in  existence.  They  are  admirably  adapted  in 
form  and  matter  to  the  needs  of  colleges,  schools,  reading  circles, 
and  private  classes.  Attention  is  called  to  them  as  giving  the 
utmost  satisfaction  as  class  hand-books. 


Noah  Porter,  President  of  Yale  College. 

"The  *  Epochs  of  History'  have  been  prepared  with  knowl» 
edge  and  artistic  skill  to  meet  the  wants  of  a  large  number  of 
readers.  To  the  young  they  furnish  an  outline  or  compendium. 
To  those  who  are  older  they  present  a  convenient  sketch  of  the 
heads  of  the  knowledge  which  they  have  already  acquired.  The 
outlines  are  by  no  means  destitute  of  spirit,  and  may  be  used  with 
great  profit  for  family  reading,  and  in  select  classes  or  reading  clubs. " 

Charles  Kendall  Adams,  President  of  Cornell  University. 

"A  series  of  concise  and  carefully  prepared  volumes  on  special 
eras  of  history.  Each  is  also  complete  in  itself,  and  has  no  especial 
connection  with  the  other  members  of  the  series.  The  works  are 
all  written  by  authors  selected  by  the  editor  on  account  of  some 
especial  qualifications  for  a  portrayal  of  the  period  they  respectively 
describe.  The  volumes  form  an  excellent  collection,  especially 
adapted  to  the  wants  of  a  general  reader." 


The  Publishers  will  supply  these  volumes  to  teachers  at  SPECIAL 

NE  T  RA  TES,  and  would  solicit  correspondeizce  concerning 

terms  for  examination  and  introduction  copies. 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS,    Publishers 

153-157  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


THE    GREAT    SUCCESS    OF 
THE    SERIES 

is  the  best  proof  of  its  general  popularity,  and  the  excellence  of 
the  various  volumes  is  further  attested  by  their  having  been 
adopted  as  text-books  in  many  of  our  leading  educational  institu- 
tions. The  publishers  beg  to  call  attention  to  the  following  list 
comprising  some  of  the  most  prominent  institutions  using  volumes 
of  the  series : 


Smith  College,  Northampton,  Mass. 
Univ.  of  Vermont,  Burlington,  Vt. 
Yale  Univ.,  New  Haven,  Conn. 
Harvard  Univ.,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
Bellewood  Sem.,  Anchorage,  Ky. 
Vanderbilt  Univ.,  Nashville,  Tenn. 
State  Univ.,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 
Christian  Coll.,  Columbia,  Mo. 
Adelphi  Acad.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
Earlham  Coll.,  Richmond,  Ind. 
Granger  Place  School,  Canandaigua, 

N.  Y. 
Salt  Lake  A  cad., Salt  Lake  City,  Utah. 
Beloit  Col.,  Beloit,  Wis. 
Logan  Female  Coll.,  Russellville,  Ky. 
No.  West  Univ.,  Evanston,  111. 
State  Normal  School,  Baltimore,  Md. 
Hamilton  Coll.,  Clinton,  N.  Y. 
Doane  Coll.,  Crete,  Neb. 
Princeton  College,  Princeton,  N.J. 
Williams  Coll.,  Williamstown,  Mass. 
Cornell  Univ.,  Ithaca,  N.  Y. 
Illinois  Coll.,  Jacksonville,  111. 


Univ.  of  South,  Sewaunee,  Tenn. 
Wesleyan  Univ.,  Mt.  Pleasant,  la. 
Univ.  of  Cal.,  Berkeley,  Cal. 
So.  Car.  Coll.,  Columbia,  S.  C. 
Amsterdam      Acad.,       Amsterdam, 

N.  Y. 
Carleton  Coll.,  Northfield,  Minn. 
Wesleyan  Univ.,  Middletown,  Mass. 
Albion  Coll.,  Albion,  Mich. 
Dartmouth  Coll.,  Hanover,  N.  H. 
Wilmington  Coll.,  Wilmington,  O. 
Madison  Univ.,  Hamilton,  N.  Y. 
Syracuse  Univ.,  Syracuse,  N.  Y. 
Univ.  of  Wis.,  Madison,  Wis. 
Union  Coll.,  Schenectady,  N.  Y. 
Norwich  Free  Acad.,  Norwich,  Conn. 
Greenwich  Acad.,  Greenwich,  Conn. 
Univ.  of  Neb.,  Lincoln,  Neb. 
Kalamazoo  Coll.,  Kalamazoo,  Mich. 
Olivet  Coll.,  Olivet,  Mich. 
Amherst  Coll.,  Amherst,  Mass. 
Ohio  State  Univ.,  Columbus,  O. 
Free  Schools,  Oswego,  N.  Y. 


Bishop  J.  F.  Hurst,  ex-President  of  Drew  Theol.  Sem. 
11  It  appears  to  me  that  the  idea  of  Morris  in  his  Epochs  is 
strictly  in  harmony  with  the  philosophy  of  history — namely,  that 
great  movements  should  be  treated  not  according  to  narrow 
geographical  and  national  limits  and  distinction,  but  universally, 
according  to  their  place  in  the  general  life  of  the  world.  The 
historical  Maps  and  the  copious  Indices  are  welcome  additions 
to  the  volumes." 


EPOCHS    OF    ANCIENT 
HISTORY, 

A    SERIES    OF    BOOKS  NARRATING    THE    HISTORY   OF 

GREECE  AND  ROME,  AND  OF  THEIR  RELATIONS  TO 

OTHER    COUNTRIES  AT  SUCCESSIVE  EPOCHS. 

Edited  by 

Rev.  G.  W.  Cox  and  Charles  Sankey,  M.A. 

Eleven  volumes,  i6mo,  with  41  Maps  and  Plans, 

Sold  separately.     Price  per  vol.,  $1.00. 

The  Set,  Roxburgh  style,  gilt  top,  in  box,   $11.00. 


TROY— ITS      LEGEND,      HISTORY,     AND 
LITERATURE.     By  S.  G.  W.  Benjamin. 

"  The  task  of  the  author  has  been  to  gather  into  a  clear 
and  very  readable  narrative  all  that  is  known  of  legendary, 
historical,  and  geographical  Troy,  and  to  tell  the  story  of 
Homer,  and  weigh  and  compare  the  different  theories  in  the 
Homeric  controversy.  The  work  is  well  done.  His  book  is 
altogether  candid,  and  is  a  very  valuable  and  entertaining 
compendium. " — Hartford  Courant. 

"As  a  monograph  on  Troy,  covering  all  sides  of  the  ques- 
tion, it  is  of  great  value,  and  supplies  a  long  vacant  place  in 
our  fund  of  classical  knowledge." — 2V.  Y.  Christian  Advocate. 

THE    GREEKS    AND    THE     PERSIANS.      By 

Rev  G.  W.  Cox. 

"It  covers  the  ground  in  a  perfectly  satisfactory  way. 
The  work  is  clear,  succinct,  and  readable." — New  York 
Independent. 

'  Marked  by  thorough  and  comprehensive  scholarship  and 
by  a  skillful  style." — Congregationalist. 

"It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  creditable  book.  The 
author's  prefatory  remarks  upon  the  origin  and  growth  of 
Greek  civilization  are  alone  worth  the  price  of  the  volume' 
^—Christian  Union 


EPOCHS   OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY 

THE  ATHENIAN  EMPIRE— From  the  Flight 
of  Xerxes  to  the  Fall  of  Athens.  By  Rev. 
G.  W.,  Cox. 

"Mr.  Cox  writes  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring  before  the 
reader  everything  which  is  important  to  be  known  or  learned ; 
and  his  narrative  cannot  fail  to  give  a  good  idea  of  the  men 
and  deeds  with  which  he  is  concerned." — The  Churchman, 

"  Mr.  Cox  has  done  his  work  with  the  honesty  of  a  true 
student.  It  shows  persevering  scholarship  and  a  desire  to 
get  at  the  truth." — New  York  Herald. 

THE  SPARTAN  AND  THEBAN  SUPREMA- 
CIES.    By  Charles  Sankey,  M. A. 

"  This  volume  covers  the  period  between  the  disasters  of 

Athens  at  the  close  of  the  Pelopenesian  war  and  the  rise  of 

Macedon.      It  is  a  very  striking  and  instructive  picture  of  the 

political  life  of  the  Grecian  commonwealth  at  that  time." — 

The  Churchman. 

"It  is  singularly  interesting  to  read,  and  in  respect  to 
arrangement,  maps,  etc.,  is  all  that  can  be  desired." — Boston 
Congregationalist. 

THE  MACEDONIAN  EMPIRE— Its  Rise  and 
Culmination  to  Death  of  Alexander  the 
Great.    By  A.  M.  Curteis,  M.A. 

"A  good  and  satisfactory  history  of  a  very  important  period. 
The  maps  are  excellent,  and  the  story  is  lucidly  and  vigor- 
ously told." — The  Nation. 

"  The  same  compressive  style  and  yet  completeness  ot 
detail  that  have  characterized  the  previous  issues  in  this 
delightful  series,  are  found  in  this  volume.  Certainly  the  art 
of  conciseness  in  writing  was  never  carried  to  a  higher  or 
more  effective  point." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

x*x  The  above  Jive  Vuiumes  give  a  connected  and  complete 
history  of  Greece  from  the  earliest  times  to  the  death  of 
Alexander, 


EPOCHS  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY 


EARLY  ROME— From  the  Foundation  of  the 
City  to  its  Destruction  by  the  Gauls.  By 
W.  Ihne,  Ph.D. 

"  Those  who  want  to  know  the  truth  instead  of  the  tra- 
ditions that  used  to  be  learned  of  our  fathers,  will  find  in  :'>e 
work  entertainment,  careful  scholarship,  and  sound  sensed  ■ 
Cincinnati  Times. 

"  The  book  is  excellently  well  done.  The  views  are  those 
of  a  learned  and  able  man,  and  they  are  presented  in  this 
volume  with  great  force  and  clearness." — The  Nation. 

ROME  AND  CARTHAGE— The    Punic  Wars. 

By  R.  Bosworth  Smith. 

"  By  blending  the  account  of  Rome  and  Carthage  the  ac- 
complished author  presents  a  succinct  and  vivid  picture  of 
two  great  cities  and  people  which  leaves  a  deep  impression. 
The  story  is  full  of  intrinsic  interest,  and  was  never  better 
told . ' ' —  Christian  Union. 

"  The  volume  is  one  of  rare  interest  and  value." — Chicago 
Interior. 

"An  admirably  condensed  history  of  Carthage,  from  its 
establishment  by  the  adventurous  Phoenician  traders  to  its 
sad  and  disastrous  fall." — New  York  Herald. 

THE   GRACCHI,   MARIUS,   AND  SULLA.    By 

A.  H.  Beesley. 

"  A  concise  and  scholarly  historical  sketch,  descriptive  of 
the  decay  of  the  Roman  Republic,  and  the  events  which  paved 
the  way  for  the  advent  of  the  conquering  Caesar.  It  is  an 
excellent  account  of  the  leaders  and  legislation  oi  the  repub- 
lic."— Boston  Post. 

"  It  is  prepared  in  succinct  but  comprehensive  style,  and  is 
an  excellent  book  for  reading  and  reference." — New  York 
Observer. 

"  No  better  condensed  account  of  the  two  Gracchi  and  the 
turbulent  careers  of  Marius  and  Sulla  has  yet  appeared."— 
New  York  Independent. 


EPOCHS  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY 

THE  ROMAN  TRIUMVIRATES.  By  the  Very  Rev. 
Charles  Merivale,  D.D. 

"  In  brevity,  clear  and  scholarly  treatment  of  the  subject, 
and  the  convenience  of  map,  index,  and  side  notes,  the 
volume  is  a  model." — New  York   Iribujte. 

"  An  admirable  presentation,  and  in  style  vigorous  and 
picturesque." — Hartford  Courant. 

THE  EARLY  EMPIRE— From  the  Assassina- 
tion of  Julius  Caesar  to  the  Assassination 
Of  Domitian.     By  Rev.  W.  Wolfe  Capes,  M.A. 

"  It  is  written  with  great  clearness  and  simplicity  of  style, 
and  is  as  attractive  an  account  as  has  ever  been  given  in 
brief  of  one  of  the  most  interesting  periods  of  Roman 
History." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"It  is  a  clear,  well-proportioned,  and  trustworthy  perfor- 
mance, and  well  deserves  to  be  studied." — Christian  at 
Work. 

THE  AGE  OF  THE  ANTONINES— The  Roman 
Empire  of  the  Second  Century.  By  Rev. 
W.  Wolfe  Capes,  M.A. 

"  The  Roman  Empire  during  the  second  century  is  the 
broad  subject  discussed  in  this  book,  and  discussed  with 
learning  and  intelligence." — New  York  Independent. 

"  The  writer's  diction  is  clear  and  elegant,  and  his  narra- 
tion is  free  from  any  touch  of  pedantry.  In  the  treatment  of 
its  prolific  and  interesting  theme,  and  in  its  general  plan,  the 
book  is  a  model  of  works  of  its  class." — New  York  Herald. 

"  We  are  glad  to  commend  it.  It  is  written  clearly,  and 
with  care  and  accuracy.  It  is  also  in  such  neat  and  compact 
form  as  to  be  the  more  attractive." — Congregaiionalist. 

*#*  The  above  six  volumes  give  the  History  of  Rome  from 
the  founding  of  the  City  to  the  death  of  Marcus  A  urelius 
Antoninus. 


EPOCHS    OF    MODERN 
HISTORY. 

A    SERIES    OF  BOOKS  NARRATING    THE  HISTORY   OF 

ENGLAND  AND  EUROPE  AT  SUCCESSIVE  EPOCHS 

SUBSEQUENT  TO  THE  CHRISTIAN  ERA. 

Edited  by 

Edward  E.  Morris. 

Eighteen  volumes,  i6mo,  with  74  Maps,  Plans,  and  Tables, 

Sold  separately.     Price  per  vol.,  $1.00. 

The  Set,  Roxburgh  style,  gilt  top,  in  box,  $18.00. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES- 
England  and  Europe  in  the  Ninth  Century. 

By  the  Very  Rev.  R.  W.  Church,  M.A. 

"A  remarkably  thoughtful  and  satisfactory  discussion  of 
the  causes  and  results  of  the  vast  changes  which  came  upon 
Europe  during  the  period  discussed.  The  book  is  adapted  to 
be  exceedingly  serviceable." — Chicago  Standard. 

"At  once  readable  and  valuable.  It  is  comprehensive  and 
yet  gives  the  details  of  a  period  most  interesting  to  the  student 
of  history. " — Herald  and  Presbyter. 

"It  is  written  with  a  clearness  and  vividness  of  statement 
which  make  it  the  pleasantest  reading.  It  represents  a  great 
deal  of  patient  research,  and  is  careful  and  scholarly." — ■ 
Boston  Journal. 

THE  NORMANS  IN  EUROPE— The  Feudal 
System  and  England  under  the  Norman 
Kings.     By  Rev.  A.  H.  Johnson,  M.A. 

"  Its  pictures  of  the  Normans  in  their  home,  of  the  Scan- 
dinavian exodus,  the  conquest  of  England,  and  Norman 
administration,  are  full  of  vigor  and  cannot  fail  of  holding  the 
reader's  attention." — Episcopal  Register. 

"  The  style  of  the  author  is  vigorous  and  animated,  and  he 
has  given  a  valuable  sketch  of  the  origin  and  progress  of  the 
great  Northern  movement  that  has  shaped  the  history  of 
modern  Europe." — Boston  Transcript. 


EPOCHS  OF  MODERN1  HISTORY 

THE    CRUSADES.     By  Rev.  G.  W.  Cox. 

"  To  be  warmly  commended  for  important  qualities.  The 
author  shows  conscientious  fidelity  to  the  materials,  and  such 
skill  in  the  use  of  them,  that,  as  a  result,  the  reader  has 
before  him  a  narrative  related  in  a  style  that  makes  it  truly 
fascinating." — Congregationalism 

"  It  is  written  in  a  pure  and  flowing  style,  and  its  arrange- 
ment and  treatment  of  subject  are  exceptional." — Christian 
Intelligencer. 

THE  EARLY  P  L  A  N  T  AG  EN  ETS— Their 
Relation  to  the  History  of  Europe;  The 
Foundation  and  Growth  of  Constitutional 
Government.    By  Rev.  W.  Stubbs,  M.A. 

"Nothing  could  be  desired  more  clear,  succinct,  and  well 
arranged.  All  parts  of  the  book  are  well  done.  It  may  be 
pronounced  the  best  existing  brief  history  of  the  constitution 
for  this,  its  most  important  period." — The  Nation. 

"  Prof.  Stubbs  has  presented  leading  events  with  such  fair- 
ness and  wisdom  as  are  seldom  found.  He  is  remarkably 
clear  and  satisfactory." — The  Churchman. 

EDWARD    III.     By  Rev.  W.  Warburton,  M.A. 

"  The  author  has  done  his  work  well,  and  we  commend  it 
as  containing  in  small  space  all  essential  matter." — New  York 
Independent. 

"  Events  and  movements  are  admirably  condensed  by  the 
author,  and  presented  in  such  attractive  form  as  to  entertain 
as  well  as  instruct." — Chicago  Interior. 

THE  HOUSES  OF  LANCASTER  AND  YORK 
— The  Conquest  and   Loss  of  France.     By 

James  Gairdner. 

"  Prepared  in  a  most  careful  and  thorough  manner,  and 
ought  to  be  read  by  every  student. " — New  York  Times. 

"It  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired  as  regards  compactness, 
accuracy,  and  excellence  of  literary  execution." — Boston 
Journal. 


EPOCHS  OF  MODERN  HISTORY 

THE  ERA  OF  THE  PROTESTANT  REVO- 
LUTION. By  Frederic  Seebohm.  With  Notes,  on 
Books  in  English  relating  to  the  Reformation,  by  Prof. 
George  P.  Fisher,  D.D. 

"For  an  impartial  record  of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
changes  about  four  hundred  years  ago,  we  cannot  commend  a 
better  manual." — Sunday- School  Times. 

"All  that  could  be  desired,  as  well  in  execution  as  in  plan. 
The  narrative  is  animated,  and  the  selection  and  grouping  of 
events  skillful  and  effective." — The  Nation. 

THE  EARLY  TUDORS— Henry  VII.,  Henry 
VIII.  By  Rev.  C.  E.  Moberley,  M.A.,  late  Master  in 
Rugby  School. 

"Is  concise,  scholarly,  and  accurate.  On  the  epoch  of  which 
it  treats,  we  know  of  no  work  which  equals  it." — N.  Y.  Observer. 

"  A  marvel  of  clear  and  succinct  brevity  and  good  historical 
judgment.  There  is  hardly  a  better  book  of  its  kind  to  be 
named." — New  York  Independent. 

THE  AGE  OF  ELIZABETH.  By  Rev.  M. 
Creighton,  M.A. 

"Clear  and  compact  in  style  ;  careful  in  their  facts,  and 
just  in  interpretation  of  them.  It  sheds  much  light  on  the 
progress  of  the  Reformation  and  the  origin  of  the  Popish 
reaction  during  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign  ;  also,  the  relation  of 
Jesuitism  to  the  latter." — Presbyterian  Review. 

"  A  clear,  concise,  and  just  story  of  an  era  crowded  with 
events  of  interest  and  importance."' — New  Ycrh  World. 

THE    THIRTY    YEARS'     WAR— 161 8-1 648. 

By  Samuel  Rawson  Gardiner. 

"  As  a  manual  it  will  prove  of  the  greatest  practical  value, 
while  to  the  general  reader  it  will  afford  a  clear  and  interesting 
account  of  events.  We  know  of  no  more  spirited  and  attractive 
recital  of  the  great  era." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  The  thrilling  story  of  those  times  has  never  been  told  so 
vividly  or  succinctly  as  in  this  volume." — Episcopal  Register. 


EPOCHS  OF  MODERN  HISTORY. 


THE  PURITAN  REVOLUTION;  and  the  First 
Two  Stuarts,  1  603-  1  660.  By  Samuel  Rawson 
Gardiner. 

"  The  narrative  is  condensed  and  brief,  yet  sufficiently  com- 
prehensive to  give  an  adequate  view  of  the  events  related." 
— Chicago  Standard. 

•'  Mr.  Gardiner  uses  his  researches  in  an  admirably  clear 
and  fair  way  " — Congregalionalisl. 

"The  .-ketch  is  concise,  but  clear  and  perfectly  intelligible." 
— Hartford  Courant. 

THE  ENGLISH  RESTORATION  AND  LOUIS 
XIV.,  from  the  Peace  of  Westphalia  to  the 
Peace  of  Nimwegen.    By  Osmund  Airy,  M. A. 

"  It  is  crisply  and  admirably  written.  An  immense  amount 
of  information  is  conveyed  and  with  great  clearness,  the 
arrangement  of  the  subjects  showing  great  skill  and  a  thor- 
ough command  of  the  complicated  theme." — Boston  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette. 

"The  author  writes  with  fairness  and  discrimination,  and 
has  given  a  clear  and  intelligible  presentation  of  the  time." — 
New  York  Evangelist. 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  STUARTS;  and  Western 
Europe.     By  Rev.  Edward  Hale,  M.A. 

"  A  valuable  compend  to  the  general  reader  and  scholar." 
— Providence  Journal. 

"It  will  be  found  of  great  value.     It  is  a  very  graphic 

account  of  the  history  of  Europe  during  the  17th  century, 

and  is  admirably  adapted  for  the  use  of  students." — Boston 

Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"An  admirable  handbook  for  the  student." — The  Churchman. 

THE  AGE  OF  ANNE.     By  Edward  E.  Morris,  M.A. 

"The  author's  arrangement  of  the  material  is  remarkably 
clear,  his  selection  and  adjustment  of  the  facts  judicious,  his 
historical  judgment  fair  and  candid,  while  the  style  wins  by 
its  simple  elegance." — Chicago  Standard. 

"An  excellent  compendium  of  the  history  of  an  important 
perV)d." — The  Watchman. 


EPOCHS  OF  MODERN  HISTORY. 

THE  EARLY  HANOVERIANS— Europe  from 
the  Peace  of  Utrecht  to  the  Peace  of  Aix- 
Ja-Chapelle.     By  Edward  E.  Morris,  M,A„ 

"  Masterly,  condensed,  and  vigorous,  this  is  one  of  the 
books  which  it  is  a  delight  to  read  at  odd  moments  :  which 
are  broad  and  suggestive,  and  at  the  same  time  cc  -idensed  in 
treatment. " — Christian  Advocate. 

"A  remarkably  clear  and  readable  summary  of  the  salient 
points  of  interest.  The  maps  and  tables,  no  less  than  the 
author's  style  and  treatment  of  the  subject,  entitle  the  volume 
to  the  highest  claims  of  recognition." — Boston  Daily  Ad- 
vertiser. 

FREDERICK  THE  GREAT,  AND  THE  SEVEN 

YEARS'  WAR.     By  F.  W.  Longman. 

"  The  subject  is  most  important,  and  the  author  has  treated 
it  in  a  way  which  is  both  scholarly  and  entertaining." — The 
Churchman. 

"Admirably  adapted  to  interest  school  boys,  and  older 
heads  will  find  it  pleasant  reading." — New  York  Tribune. 

THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION,  AND  FIRST 
EMPIRE.  By  William  O'Connor  Morris.  With 
Appendix  by  Andrew  D.  White,  LL.D.,  ex-President  of 
Cornell  University. 

"  We  have  long  needed  a  simple  compendium  of  this  period, 
and  we  have  here  one  which  is  brief  enough  to  be  easily  run 
through  with,  and  yet  particular  enough  to  make  entertaining 
reading." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  The  author  has  well  accomplished  his  difficult  task  of 
sketching  in  miniature  the  grand  and  crowded  drama  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  Napoleonic  Empire,  showing 
himself  to  be  no  servile  compiler,  but  capable  of  judicious 
and  independent  criticism." — Springfield  Republican. 

THE  EPOCH  OF  REFORM— 1  830-1  850.  By 

Justin  McCarthy. 

"  Mr.  McCarthy  knows  the  period  of  which  he  writes 
thoroughly,  and  the  result  is  a  narrative  that  is  at  once  enter- 
taining and  trustworthy." — New  York  Examiner. 

"  The  narrative  is  clear  and  comprehensive,  and  told  with 
abundant  knowledge  and  grasp  of  the  subject." — Boston 
Courier. 


IMPORTANT  HISTORICAL 

WORKS. 

CIVILIZATION  DURING  THE  MIDDLE  AGES. 
Especially  in  its  Relation  to  Modern  Civil- 
ization. By  George  B.  Adams,  Professor  of  History  in 
Yale  University.     8vo,  $2.50. 

Professor  Adams  has  here  supplied  the  need  of  a  text-book 
for  the  study  of  Mediaeval  History  in  college  classes  at  once 
thorough  and  yet  capable  of  being  handled  in  the  time  usually 
allowed  to  it.  He  has  aimed  to  treat  the  subject  in  a  manner 
which  its  place  in  the  college  curriculum  demands,  by  present- 
ing as  clear  a  view  as  possible  of  the  underlying  and  organic 
growth  of  our  civilization,  how  its  foundations  were  laid  and  its 
chief  elements  introduced. 

Prof.  Kendric  C.  Babcock,  University  of  Minnesota: — "It 
is  one  of  the  best  books  of  the  kind  which  I  have  seen.  We 
shall  use  it  the  coming  term." 

Prof.  Marshall  S.  Brown,  Michigan  University: — "I 
regard  the  work  as  a  very  valuable  treatment  of  the  great 
movements  of  history  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  as  one 
destined  to  be  extremely  helpful  to  young  students. ' ' 

Boston  Herald: — "Professor  Adams  admirably  presents 
the  leading  features  of  a  thousand  years  of  social,  political, 
and  religious  development  in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  is 
valuable  from  beginning  to  end." 

HISTORY   OF  THE   UNITED  STATES.     By  E. 

Benjamin    Andrews,    D.D.,  LL.D.,    President    of    Brown 
University.     With  maps.     Two  vols.,  crown  octavo,  $4.00. 

Boston  Advertiser  : — "We  doubt  if  there  has  been  so 
complete,  graphic,  and  so  thoroughly  impartial  a  history  of  our 
country  condensed  into  the  same  space.  It  must  become  a 
standard." 

Advance: — "  One  of  the  best  popular,  general  histories  of 
America,  if  not  the  best." 

Herald  and  Presbyter  : — "  The  very  history  that  many 
people  have  been  looking  for.  It  does  not  consist  simply  of 
minute  statements,  but  treats  of  causes  and  effects  with  •  philo- 
sophical grasp  and  thoughtfulness.  It  is  the  work  of  a  scholar 
and  thinker." 


IMPORTANT  HISTORICAL   WORKS. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ROME,  from  the  Earliest 
Time  to  the  Period  of  Its  Decline.     By  Dr. 

Theodor  Mommsen.  Translated  by  W.  P.  Dickson,  D.D., 
LL.D.  A  New  Edition,  Revised  throughout,  and  embodying 
recent  additions.     Five  vols.,  with  Map.     Price  per  stt,  $10.00. 

"A  work  of  the  very  highest  merit  ;  its  learning  is  exact 
and  profound  ;  its  narrative  full  of  genius  and  skill ;  its 
descriptions  of  men  are  admirably  vivid." — London  Times. 

"Since  the  days  of  Niebuhr,  no  work  on  Roman  History 
has  appeared  that  combines  so  much  to  attract,  instruct,  and 
charm  the  reader.  Its  style — a  rare  quality  in  a  German 
author — is  vigorous,  spirited,  and  animated." — Dr.  SCHMITZ. 

THE  PROVINCES  OFTHE  ROMAN  EMPIRE. 
From  Caesar  to  Diocletian.  By  Theodor 
Mommsen.  Translated  by  William  P.  Dickson,  D.D., 
LL.D.     With  maps.     Two  vols.,  8vo,  $6.00. 

"  The  author  draws  the  wonderfully  rich  and  varied  picture 
of  the  conquest  and  administration  of  that  great  circle  of 
peoples  and  lands  which  formed  the  empire  of  Rome  outside 
of  Italy,  their  agriculture,  trade,  and  manufactures,  their 
artistic  and  scientific  life,  through  all  degrees  of  .civilization, 
with  such  detail  and  completeness  as  could  have  come  from 
no  other  hand  than  that  of  this  great  master  of  historical  re- 
search."— Prof.  W.  A.  Packard,  Princeton  College. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  ROMAN  REPUBLIC. 

Abridged  from  the  History  by  Professor  Theodor  Mommsen, 
by  C.  Bryans  and  F.  J.  R.  Hendy.     i2mo,  $1.75. 

"  It  is  a  genuine  boon  that  the  essential  parts  of  Mommsen's 
Rome  are  thus  brought  within  the  easy  reach  of  all,  and  the 
abridgment  seems  to  me  to  preserve  unusually  well  the  glow 
and  movement  of  the  original." — Prof.  Tracy  Peck,  Yale 
University. 

"The  condensation  has  been  accurately  and  judiciously 
effected.  I  heartily  commend  the  volume  as  the  most  adequate 
embodiment,  in  a  single  volume,  of  the  main  results  of  modern 
historical  research  in  the  field  of  Roman  affairs." — Prof. 
Henry  M.  Baird,  University  of  City  of  New  York. 


IMPORTANT  JUSTORICAL   WORKS. 


THE  DAWN  OF  HISTORY.    An  Introduction 

to  Pre-Historic  Study.    New  and  Enlarged  Edition. 

Edited  by  C.  F.  Keary.     i2mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

This  work  treats  successively  of  the  earliest  traces  of  man  ; 
of  language,  its  growth,  and  the  story  it  tells  of  the  pre-his- 
toric  users  of  it ;  of  early  social  life,  the  religions,  mythologies, 
and  folk-tales,  and  of  the  history  of  writing.  The  present 
edition  contains  about  one  hundred  pages  of  new  matter, 
embodying  the  results  of  the  latest  researches. 

"A  fascinating  manual.  In  its  way,  the  work  is  a  model 
of  what  a  popular  scientific  work  should  be." — Boston  Sat. 

Eve.  Gazette. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  NATIONS.  By  Professor  George 
Rawlinson,  M.A.     i2mo,  with  maps,  $1.00. 

The  first  part  of  this  book  discusses  the  antiquity  of  civiliza- 
tion in  Egypt  and  the  other  early  nations  of  the  East.  The 
second  part  is  an  examination  of  the  ethnology  of  Genesis, 
showing  its  accordance  with  the  latest  results  of  modern 
ethnographical  science. 

"A  work  of  genuine  scholarly  excellence,  and  a  useful 
offset  to  a  great  deal  of  the  superficial  current  literature  on 
such  subjects. " — Congregationalist. 

MANUAL  OF  MYTHOLOGY.  For  the  Use 
of  Schools,  Art  Students,  and  General 
Readers.  Founded  on  the  Works  of  Pet- 
iscus,  Preller,  and  Welcker.  By  Alexander 
S.  Murray,  Department  of  Greek  and  Roman  Antiquities, 
British  Museum.  With  45  Plates.  Reprinted  from  the 
Second  Revised  London  Edition.     Crown  8vo,  $1.75. 

"  It  has  been  acknowledged  the  best  work  on  the  subject 
to  be  found  in  a  concise  form,  and  as  it  embodies  the  results 
of  the  latest  researches  and  discoveries  in  ancient  mythologies, 
it  is  superior  for  school  and  general  purposes  as  a  handbook 
to  any  of  the  so-called  standard  works." — Cleveland  Herald. 

' '  Whether  as  a  manual  for  reference,  a  text-book  for  school 
rise,  or  for  the  general  reader,  the  book  will  be  found  very 
valuable  and  interesting." — Boston  Journal. 


IMPORTANT  HISTORICAL    WORKS. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.  By  Prof.  Dr. 
Ernst  Curtius.  Translated  by  Adolphus  William  Ward, 
M.A.,  Fellow  of  St.  Peter's  College,  Cambridge,  Prof,  of 
History  in  Owen's  College,  Manchester.  Five  volumes, 
crown  8vo.     Price  per  set,  $10.00. 

"  We  cannot  express  our  opinion  of  Dr.  Curtius'  book  bet- 
ter than  by  saying  that  it  may  be  fitly  ranked  with  Theodor 
Mommsen's  great  work." — London  Spectator. 

"As  an  introduction  to  the  study  of  Grecian  history,  no 
previous  work  is  comparable  to  the  present  for  vivacity  and 
picturesque  beauty,  while  in  sound  learning  and  accuracy  of 
statement  it  is  not  inferior  to  the  elaborate  productions  which 
enrich  the  literature  of  the  age." — A".  Y.  Daily  Tribune. 

OESAR:  a  Sketch.  By  James  Anthony  Froude, 
M.A.     i2mo,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 

"This  book  is  a  most  fascinating  biography  and  is  by  far  ' 
the  best  account  of  Julius  Caesar  to  be  found  in  the  English 
language. " —  The  London  Standard. 

"He  combines  into  a  compact  and  nervous  narrative  all 
that  is  known  of  the  persona),  social,  political,  and  military 
life  of  Caesar  ;  and  with  his  sketch  of  Caesar  includes  other 
brilliant  sketches  of  the  great  man,  his  friends,  or  rivals, 
who  contemporaneously  with  him  formed  the  principal  figures 
in  the  Roman  world." — Harper  s  Monthly. 

CICERO.    Life  of  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero.    By 

William  Forsyth,  M.A.,  Q.C.  20  Engravings.  New 
Edition.     2  vols.,  crown  8vo,  in  one,  gilt  top,  $2.50. 

The  author  has  not  only  given  us  the  most  complete  and 
well-balanced  account  of  the  life  of  Cicero  ever  published  ; 
he  has  drawn  an  accurate  and  graphic  picture  of  domestic  life 
among  the  best  classes  of  the  Romans,  one  which  the  reader 
of  general  literature,  as  well  as  the  student,  may  peruse  with 
pleasure  and  profit. 

"A  scholar  without  pedantry,  and  a  Christian  without  cant, 
Mr.  Forsyth  seems  to  have  seized  with  praiseworthy  tact  the 
precise  attitude  which  it  behooves  a  biographer  to  take  when 
narrating  the  life,  the  personal  life  of  Cicero.  Mr.  Forsyth 
produces  what  we  venture  to  say  will  become  one  of  the 
classics  of  English  biographical  literature,  and  will  be  wel- 
comed by  readers  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes,  of  all  professions 
*nd  of  no  profession  at  all." — London  Quarterly. 


VALUABLE  WORKS  ON 
CLASSICAL    LITERATURE. 

THE    HISTORY   OF    ROMAN  LITERATURE. 
From  the  Earliest  Period  to  the  Death  of 

MarCUS  Aurelius.  With  Chronological  Tables,  etc., 
for  the  use  of  Students.  By  C.  T.  Cruttwell,  M.A.  Crown 
8vo,  $2.50. 

Mr.  Cruttwell's  book  is  written  throughout  from  a  purely 
literary  point  of  view,  and  the  aim  has  been  to  avoid  tedious 
and  trivial  details.  The  result  is  a  volume  not  only  suited 
for  the  student,  but  remarkably  readable  for  all  who  possess 
any  interest  in  the  subject. 

"  Mr.  Cruttwell  has  given  us  a  genuine  history  of  Roman 
literature,  not  merely  a  descriptive  list  of  authors  and  their 
productions,  but  a  well  elaborated  portrayal  of  the  successive 
stages  in  the  intellectual  development  of  the  Romans  and  the 
various  forms  of  expression  which  these  took  in  literature." — 
N.  Y.  ATation. 

UNIFORM    WITH   THE   ABOVE. 

A    HISTORY    OF    GREEK    LITERATURE. 

From  the  Earliest  Period  of  Demosthenes. 

By  Frank  Byron  Jevons,  M.A.,  Tutor  in  the  University 
of  Durham.     Crown  8vo,  $2.50. 

The  author  goes  into  detail  with  sufficient  fullness  to  make 
the  history  complete,  but  he  never  loses  sight  of  the  com- 
manding lines  along  which  the  Greek  mind  moved,  and  a 
clear  understanding  of  which  is  necessary  to  every  intelligent 
student  of  universal  literature. 

"It  is  beyond  all  question  the  best  history  of  Greek  litera* 
ture  that  has  hitherto  been  published." — London  Spectator. 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

* 

153-157  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York, 


/ 


t><K> 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


MAY   6    1934 


MAY    7    1934 


MAN    271935 


AUG  01  1988 


AUTOMSMB602  38 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


€005315754 


